The Right Kind of Madness
by almostfamousoxo
Summary: "They had tried to make a go of it and failed spectacularly, and that changed everything. It made her question everything she had ever believed about them, every instinct she had ever had." Three years after an emotional breakup Olivia and Fitz reunite as friends, tucked away for 5 days in the Rocky Mountains. Can they really work as friends or are they just kidding themselves?
1. Ch 1

**A/N: Welcome to my first multi-chapter story! This story takes place three years after 5x09. Everything is canon except for the abortion, because I don't know how to write my way out of that one. I hope you'll indulge me in this descriptive prologue, I really wanted to spend some time setting the scene. I expect this story to be 4 or 5 chapters, posted over the course of the hiatus. I'll be pouring my soul into this one, its basically my olitz therapy. If you decide to join me on the journey, I'd appreciate your feedback in the comments!**

 **February 2019**

Olivia Pope isn't nervous. She's not.

Glancing down at her watch she realizes she must have switched time zones by now, and she clicks the crown out to adjust the time so that it reads nine-thirty am instead of eleven-thirty am. She has no reason to be nervous, she tells herself over and over again as hundreds of butterflies flutter around in her belly. She squeezes the armrests of her seat as the plane descends into Denver, sliding open the sunshade to look out the window. The landscape below is white with snow, sprawling and barren, dotted here and there with patches of foliage and houses surrounded by large plots of land. The plane banks left and the Rocky Mountains come into spectacular view, spread out before her in all of their snowcapped majesty.

Visiting an old friend is nothing to be nervous about, she reasons, drawing in a breath and subtly blowing it out through her lips. Except he isn't just an old friend, she concedes. He's a former President of the United States. He's her ex-boyfriend. The ex-love of her life. Her almost forever.

Olivia makes her way through the airport and out to baggage claim, immediately spotting a familiar face holding a sign with her name on it.

"You didn't need to bring a sign, you know. Did you honestly think I wouldn't recognize you?" she asks, coming to stand in front of him.

"Well ma'am, it wasn't really up to me," Ben chuckles, folding the sign up and storing it in the pocket of his suit jacket.

"Its really good to see you, Ben," Olivia says sincerely, smiling brightly and squeezing his forearm.

"You too, Ms. Pope," he replies, returning her smile with kind, crinkly eyes.

Ben had been one of her personal secret service agents at the White House. She noticed almost immediately that he seemed more sympathetic to her transition than the others, often taking an extra moment to explain the details of a security protocol when she was feeling uncomfortable or irritated. Alternatively, he was also quick to give her a second to breath when she needed it, and as a seasoned agent he influenced the others in her detail to follow his lead when he fell back. He quickly became her most trusted agent, the one she would make small talk with during a car ride, or in the vestibule of a senator's office, and although many of her memories from her time in the White House are painful ones, it really _is_ good to see him again.

Olivia insists that she roll her own suitcase, so after she pulls it off of the carousel and secures her carry-on to the top, Ben leads the way outside. The sliding doors open and a whoosh of cold, crisp air hits Liv in the face, making her shiver and tuck her shimmery white scarf closer around her neck. The sun is blinding, the sky a stunning shade of blue.

"You picked a beautiful day to fly in. This is classic Colorado winter, not a cloud in the sky."

"That's right, you're from Colorado aren't you?" Liv asks, suddenly remembering.

"Born and raised," Ben replies proudly.

Ben leads her across the taxi and public transport pick-up lanes to an area lined with limousines and private, company vehicles. She recognizes the secret service issued SUV immediately.

"Its beautiful so far, but, its so cold!" she laughs, handing off her suitcase so that he can put it in the trunk.

"Even colder where we're going," Ben smirks, opening the back door and helping her climb in.

"Are you comfortable, ma'am? We have a bit of a drive ahead of us," Ben warns, after she's settled in the backseat and he's climbed behind the wheel. The butterflies have returned, but there's no turning back now.

"I'm fine, let's go."

* * *

Fitzgerald Grant is going to have a nervous breakdown. He's sure of it.

Standing at the kitchen counter, he takes another sip of coffee before realizing the caffeine probably isn't helping his anxious state. He tips the rest of the dark, rich liquid into the sink and rinses his mug, putting it in the dishwasher.

He paces around the kitchen island a few times and glances at the microwave clock. Nine-twenty am, her plane should be landing soon. He checks his phone for the fifth time, waiting on a text confirming that she's safely off the plane and in Ben's company.

Olivia is coming to Colorado. Today. He's still having some trouble wrapping his mind around the concept that in a few hours Liv will be here in this house with him for five days. The uncertainty of how these next five days are going to go is unnerving him, making him jittery and anxious.

They're friends now, really and truly just friends, for the first time over the course of their ten-year relationship. But he is all too aware that taking a friendly relationship that has been cultivated and nurtured strictly over the phone and translating it into an actual visit is going to be…challenging. And he's nervous. He's nervous that they won't be able to maintain this new balance after they're in the same room. He's nervous that as soon as they see each other in person they'll realize they've been kidding themselves all these months. And he's especially nervous because he isn't sure that he wants to fight the pull between them, but he doesn't think she feels the same way anymore.

Two pairs of eyes track him suspiciously as he walks through the living room and starts pacing there, tracing circles around the large, plush sectional, the anxiety coming off of him in waves.

"Don't judge me, you guys," he speaks directly to the two black and white Tibetan Terriers lying on the tan and navy braided rug in front of the fireplace. Their ears perk up, quickly losing interest after they realize that nothing Fitz just said promises food or a romp in the snow.

His phone buzzes with a text and he's so on edge that he nearly drops it.

 _Found Ben, on our way. See you soon._

Fitz sucks in a breath.

"No turning back now," he mutters, sending her a quick text back letting her know he's here waiting for her.

He has about two hours to kill and realizes he can't sit inside without going insane. He eyes the dwindling pile of firewood on the hearth and grabs his brown Patagonia jacket, heading to the expansive sliding glass door at the back of the house. The dogs jump up as soon as he touches his jacket, whining with excitement.

"Alright guys, let's go. Let's go chop some firewood."

* * *

The Rockies in February are one of the most beautiful sights Olivia has ever seen.

The cruise down I-70 west is breathtaking, and the views get better with every turn. The mountains rise up all around them now, and Liv feels like she's in another world. They go around a bend and the rocky landscape opens up again, exposing a glittery lake amidst the thousands of evergreens dusted with snow. Fitz had made a campaign stop in Denver, what feels like a lifetime ago, but they'd been in and out within thirty-six hours, barely time to step outside the hotel, definitely not enough time to explore the mountains and appreciate the magnificent landscape.

Olivia and Ben make small talk initially but its quiet in the car now. She stares out the window lost in thought, going over the last three years of her life. She's secretly relieved that Fitz hadn't come along to pick her up from the airport. She's excited to see him of course, she wouldn't have come if she wasn't, and those feelings are mixed in with the nerves. But they haven't been in the same room for over three years, and it went unspoken that a two-hour car ride probably wasn't the most ideal situation to break the ice.

Breaking up with Fitz after spending six months together, _really_ together, felt lonely, and devastating, and so very, very final. They had argued, and hurt each other, and been "done" before, but this time felt so different. They had tried to make a go of it and failed spectacularly, and that changed everything. It made her question everything she had ever believed about them, every instinct she had ever had. Every cell in her body screamed that being with Fitz was right, and yet it had all gone so wrong.

Going through a bona fide break up with Fitz was just as gut wrenching as she'd always imagined it would be. The first month was the hardest. She'd gone through bottle after bottle of wine, trying to dull the pain. She hadn't expected to be in actual pain but she physically ached, her chest, her head, her limbs. She ate terrible, greasy food or nothing at all, cycling between the two for days on end. She slept fitfully, at first unable to sleep at all without his warmth next to her, and then dreaming of him when she was able to drift off. For a while she wasn't sure which was worse, being awake and re-playing their fatal argument, or dreaming about it only to wake up with tears running down her face.

After some of the anger faded, the sadness had crept in, the unbearable pain of not having him near her on a regular basis anymore. She missed his smile, his laugh, and his voice. She missed fighting for the blankets in the middle of the night, and she missed taking five minutes in the morning to sit and drink her tea across from him while he sipped strong black coffee. She missed arguing with him over foreign policy and celebrating with him when he was able to affect change. She missed kissing him. She missed his body covering hers and feeling him inside her, and those dreams were the worst of all, the dreams where she woke up wet and panting, aching for him, feeling phantom lips on her belly, on her neck. She was often unable to go back to sleep for hours, and no amount of attention from her fingers ever soothed the burn.

When they broke up she cut all ties with the White House and they didn't speak for almost a year. Olivia knew a clean break from Fitz was going to be necessary if she had any chance of moving on, and so, she made it happen. For the first time, she cut herself off from any and all things pertaining to Fitzgerald Thomas Grant the third. And it worked. Each day got a little bit easier until, three months after, she was honestly feeling better. It wasn't necessarily easy to think of Fitz, but it wasn't painful either. Six months after, she caught herself in the kitchen one night, waiting for her popcorn to finish, recalling a night in her apartment when Fitz had accidentally loaded an obscene amount of kernels into the air popper. She had walked in just as he frantically stuck a bigger bowl under the spout and she had lost it, finding the look on his face hilariously adorable. As she recalled the memory she realized that even though it still made her heart ache, it also made her smile, not cry.

But inevitably, it started again the way it always did with them, with a crisis.

Almost a year to the day of their break up, he called, desperately needing her advice about something. It had been surprisingly easy to fall back into a professional relationship with him, perhaps because it was so mutual. They were both equally guarded, so careful about that first set of phone calls, and it set the tone for all of the calls that came after. They'd always been good over the phone. Slowly, she became an advisor to him again, a role that she'd always loved and something she genuinely missed doing.

The transition into being friends happened slowly as well. It started with little things, one of them mentioning a book or an article they were reading that they knew the other would love, or suggesting a documentary or a restaurant for the same reason. As Fitz prepared to transition into life post-presidency, conversation turned to where he wanted to go, what he wanted to do. It was Fitz who finally voiced what they had both been silently wondering.

 _Can we—are we friends, Olivia? I mean, can we be? Would you like to be?_

She'll never forget the vulnerable, nervous quality to his voice that night. Tears immediately stung her eyes, because she was so _grateful_ to have him back in her life, so _happy_ that he wanted her in his. She embraced the possibility that even though they didn't work romantically, they could still work as friends. And they did.

They make a conscious effort to be careful, though. Careful not to let things get too close. In all of their conversations they never approach the subject of their failed relationship, and after he moved to Colorado seeing each other in person wasn't even an option anymore. Without the pressure of any expectations they've been talking about once a week for the past year, about anything and everything. Politics and social issues of course, Olivia's business, which is once again flourishing, the limited number of commitments Fitz has taken on as a former POTUS and his new life in Colorado, and unsurprisingly their friendship has grown and blossomed beautifully.

 _Come to Colorado, Olivia, we're ready_

He's been asking her to come and visit for several months now. She hesitated until she didn't.

 _I have a list of three different weeks that I can come visit. If none of those work I can pick three more. If none of those work, I'm not coming._

He had momentarily been stunned into silence, before springing into action and pulling up a calendar.

Ben snaps her out of her reverie, announcing that they're approaching the Eisenhower Tunnel, which passes through the continental divide, and Dillon is about another half hour away. Olivia nods, trying another deep breathe to calm her nerves.

"How is he, Ben?" Olivia asks, suddenly.

Ben meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, and she can see him considering how to respond.

"He's good, ma'am. Happy. More relaxed than I've ever known him," he answers finally.

There's a beat of silence before he continues.

"He's excited to see you," he offers, keeping his face carefully neutral.

Her stomach flips. Olivia isn't one hundred percent sure what this visit is, but she knows that it's time. She's been in orbit with this man for ten years and it's time to figure out what they can be, or what they can't be, to each other, once and for all.

* * *

Dillon, Colorado is a quiet little mountain town with a population of about one thousand people, situated about thirty minutes outside of Breckenridge. The town itself is only two and a half square miles, forty percent of which is water in the form of the Dillon Reservoir.

Ben takes the exit for US-6 East and follows the road through the tiny cluster of streets that make up Dillon proper, past Main Street and into the residential area of town. Olivia watches through the window as they turn away from the houses onto a well traveled, albeit deserted, county road. Her heart is pounding, she realizes, and she fidgets in her seat, tucking her phone back into her bag and swiping on some Chapstick. They've turned onto an even more deserted road now, and they may as well be in the middle of the nowhere.

"Ben? You're not driving out here with plans to murder me, right?" she asks dryly, craning her neck to stare up at the enormous evergreen trees.

"Its just up here, Ms. Pope," Ben chuckles, turning onto what she imagines is a paved driveway, although she can't tell for sure because they're driving on packed snow.

Olivia brings one hand to her chest as Fitz's house comes into view, still trying to slow her pulse. The house is tucked into a clearing in the trees, situated against a slope in the land. As far as Liv can tell it's two stories, half stone and half wood, with six or seven sets of large windows on all sides that almost make it look like it's made of glass more than anything else. The front of the house features a large porch on the second floor, and she can see a few chairs and a table. There's smoke coming out of the chimney and the whole scene is incredibly picturesque.

* * *

Fitz has an unfair advantage, and he sees her before she can see him. He's in the kitchen when he hears the car crunching through the snow and he immediately moves to the window. His heart slams into his chest when she gets out of the car, looking up in apparent awe at her surroundings. She's wearing one of her signature black and white coats, tied at the waist, with a scarf made out of something that sparkles and shimmers in the sunlight. As he watches, she flips her hair and adjusts the wide white headband that's keeping her ears warm, smiling at something Ben is saying to her. She looks like Liv, which is a silly thing to think because of course she does, he doesn't know what he was expecting. She still takes his breath away, and it's an involuntary reaction that he couldn't control even if he wanted to. He realizes he needs to actually go and let her in as she starts walking up the driveway.

* * *

The first thing that strikes Olivia when she opens the car door is the silence. The air is completely still, not even a whisper of a breeze to make the trees rustle, there are no roads nearby, no other houses, and the silence is deafening in the best way possible. She takes a deep breath and the smell of fresh evergreen fills her nose, the air crisp and pure, and _cold._

"I told you it would be even colder up here," Ben says when he notices her pulling her headband down further over her ears, trying to get a laugh out of her because she looks _nervous_.

"You go ahead Ms. Pope, let me get the bags."

She nods and turns toward the house, crossing her arms for warmth and to keep her hands from shaking. She's about halfway up the driveway when she hears the front door open and her head snaps up as Fitz walks outside. The sight of him knocks the wind out of her, but she recovers quickly.

"You make a girl haul it a long way up this damn mountain, Grant," she calls out to him.

Fitz beams at that because it's such a Liv thing to say, and _oh_ , maybe everything really is going to be alright.

"Oh, don't try to pretend you didn't enjoy the view on the way up here," he calls back.

"It was pretty spectacular," she concedes with a smile, stopping a few feet away from him.

Olivia takes him in for the first time. His wavy hair is a little longer now, and he's sporting about a week's worth of scruff on his face. He's wearing jeans and some sort of navy fleece pullover with a gray tee shirt underneath, his hands tucked into his pockets. If its possible he looks younger than he did the last time she saw him, and when they make eye contact she notices that there's light behind his eyes again.

Finally, _finally_ , she's standing right in front of him and they both stare at each other for a second, which turns into five seconds, which almost turns into ten seconds.

"This is—"

"Awkward, I know," he finishes for her, and they both laugh nervously.

They spend another few seconds looking each other over, as if they're instantly able to catalogue everything that's different, everything that's the same. Fitz opens his mouth to say something and then thinks better of it.

"God, this shouldn't be so hard," he says, running a hand through his hair.

Olivia takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, shifting from one foot to the other, looking down at the meticulously laid stone walkway under her feet.

"Why don't we just start with, 'hey'," she suggests, taking a tentative step forward.

"Simple, to the point, I like it," he replies, and they laugh again, still trying to dispel some of the nervous energy.

She sobers a bit, looking at him with a soft smile.

"Hey, Fitz."

He grins at her, inadvertently causing her heart to skip.

"Hey, Liv. Come on in."


	2. Ch 2

Fitz ushers her inside out of the cold and turns to Ben, who has been hanging back to let them have their moment. He takes Olivia's luggage and Ben lets him know he'll be posted outside for the remainder of his shift.

Fitz closes the door and turns around to find the two furry occupants of the house giving Olivia a thorough once-over.

"Oh, I know who you guys are, this must be James and Dolly," Liv is saying, standing still and offering her hands while they circle her, sniffing every inch of her body, tails wagging furiously.

"Geez guys, go easy on her," Fitz scolds gently from a few steps away, "They don't see many new people, they're just excited."

"They're fine," she says softly, crouching down to read their nametags and figure out which is James and which is Dolly.

They look remarkably similar, even if Fitz hadn't already told her all about them she might have guessed that they're brother and sister.

"You guys are adorable," she coos, giving them each a good scratch behind the ears.

She stands up and takes her suitcase from Fitz, unzipping the front pocket.

"I brought them something, are these okay for them to have?" she asks, pulling out a bag of large, milk bone-type treats and showing it to him.

"Pretty sure if you give them those you'll have made two new friends for life," Fitz laughs, "You have to make them work for it though. Try 'high-five' that's our best trick."

He watches with amusement as she gets a high-five from each dog and crouches down again to hand over their rewards. Watching her bond with his dogs is surprisingly heartwarming, the feeling takes him completely by surprise. The dogs scamper off to enjoy their prizes in front of the fireplace and Liv straightens up, sealing the bag of treats.

"You didn't need to bring them anything, they're spoiled enough," Fitz jokes, taking her coat, scarf, and headband.

"I figured I'd better bring along some insurance in case they didn't like me. From what you've told me they're the ones in charge, so," she shrugs with a smile, adjusting her cable knit cream sweater and flicking her bangs out of her eyes.

She tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans and moves deeper into the house, tilting her head back to take in the high ceiling.

"So this is the house," she breathes, looking around, piecing together what he's told her about the place with what she can see of the first floor.

"This is the house," Fitz says, coming to stand next to her, "Do you want the grand tour?"

"Of course I do, I've been hearing about this place for almost two years," she answers, motioning for him to lead the way.

He leads her off to the left, into the living room. The house is sparsely decorated, letting the expert design and craftsmanship shine instead of the décor. The textures in the room are decidedly masculine, between the rich wood floors and the stone fireplace, but the space has a warmth to it that makes Olivia feel welcome immediately. The slate colored sofa is covered in big throw pillows, several knit blankets thrown over the backrest, and two thick, braided rugs cover the floor and accent the space.

"This is beautiful, did you help design this?" she asks, pointing to the intricate stone pattern on the fireplace hearth and walking over to get a better look.

"No, I gave her a general idea of what I wanted and she came up with the design. The artist that did it is amazing, I actually found her on recommendation from the guy who did—um—" he stops short, choking on the sentence.

 _Great, Fitz. Five minutes in and you're already fucking this up._

Olivia turns to look at him, wondering why he stopped explaining. She takes in the stricken look on his face and instantly knows what he was about to say, her expression sobering in understanding. He looks so uncomfortable all of a sudden, and everything in her wants to soothe him.

 _It's alright. I'm not going to run away._

She gives him a moment to continue and when he doesn't, she gives him a gentle nudge.

"It's okay. You can say it," she says, her eyes soft and reassuring.

"The, um, the guy who designed the one in the Vermont house recommended her to me," he finishes, taking a deep breath.

They let the moment settle between them, feeling like they've just overcome something.

"Well, I like it," Olivia says finally, "Kitchen's through here?"

She leads the way into the kitchen this time, giving them both a second to recover.

The kitchen runs along the back of the house, anchored by a large island with a cooktop in the center. The dark wood cabinets echo the hardwood floors in the rest of the house, complimented with stainless steel appliances.

"Do you actually cook in here?" Olivia smirks, smoothing a hand over the granite countertops.

"Hey, I can cook, I just haven't had time in about twenty years," Fitz scoffs, pretending to be offended.

"Well, you'll have to prove it to me while I'm here," she challenges casually, reaching down to give Dolly, who has joined them on the tour, a scratch.

"Actually, I planned on making something for us tonight, if that's okay, I just figured you might be tired from traveling and its kind of a drive to get to any kind of restaurant, but if you want to go somewhere we can—"

"Fitz," she interrupts his rambling, smiling gently, "Staying here sounds good, if you want to cook, I'd like that."

Its odd to see him so nervous, as if he's afraid he'll do or say the wrong thing. He's usually so confident with her, so comfortable and sure of himself. She doesn't want him to feel so unsettled, she wants him to relax, because that will make it easier for _her_ to relax. Over the phone their conversation flows so easily, there's no reason that has to change just because she's finally here in person.

He nods once, looking relieved.

"Show me the rest," she prompts, pushing off of the countertop she's been leaning against.

They walk around the rest of the first floor, which houses a dining room, his office, a bedroom for Teddy, a small home gym, and an empty room that he hasn't decided what to do with yet.

The second floor is lofted above the first floor, allowing for the exceptionally high ceiling. The center of the loft is a cozy den with another big L-shaped couch, a television mounted on the wall, and a small wood burning stove in one corner. The main feature of the room is a wall of floor to ceiling windows, which open out onto a large balcony that has a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains.

Olivia walks over to gaze out the windows.

He's turned away from her, explaining the details of the singular piece of art that's hanging in the loft and she can't help but run her eyes over his body. He looks good, post-presidency. Colorado clearly agrees with him. He raises his arms, gesturing to the painting and inadvertently showing off the broad expanse of his back and his biceps. He's been clean-shaven the entire time they've known each other but the stubble suits him. She catches herself imagining what his scruffy jaw might feel like against her skin, scraping against the inside of her thighs when he— _no_. A literal shake of her head breaks that particular train of thought.

 _Good lord, Olivia, really?_

She mentally scolds herself. Their chemistry is powerful and so instinctual, she should have realized that pushing those kinds of thoughts about him away wouldn't come easily. She can tell it's going to take practice, that it's going to have to be a conscious decision she makes time and time again.

"Olivia?"

 _Shit._

She snaps to attention, having been completely lost in thought.

"Sorry, I—this view is breathtaking," she covers, gesturing out the windows.

"I know," he says, crossing the short distance to stand next to her, seemingly none the wiser that she's been ogling him.

"When we scouted this piece of land and the architect sketched out his vision, this view is what ultimately sold me. That and the location."

"It's definitely private back here," she comments.

"Yeah, the secret service has a love-hate relationship with it. They love that I'm not in a densely populated area where the threat level is high, but I didn't exactly make it easy for them to staff my detail," Fitz admits sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

"How many of them are actually here?" she asks out of genuine curiosity, looking around as if she expects to suddenly see agents lurking in corners.

"Usually just three during the day, two at the house and one parked at the back road entrance. At night I have the alarm system," he explains.

They continue on with the tour, skipping over the right wing of the loft where the master suite is and moving over to the left wing, which houses two spacious guest rooms, each with a private bathroom.

He brings her luggage up for her and then leaves her in her room to get settled. He's happy to have a few moments alone to process, and knowing Liv as well as he does he imagines she is too.

He fills a glass of water at the kitchen sink and takes a few large gulps. Fitz isn't sure if it's because they've been apart for so long or if it's just because it's Liv, but he is hyper-aware of her presence. The entire time they've been walking around the house he is acutely aware of where she's standing, how close she is to him, what her breathing pattern is, and every other nuance of her behavior.

Being near her again is making him self-conscious and he's constantly checking himself. Is he standing too close to her? Too far away? Is it weird that he didn't hug her hello? What would have been more appropriate? A handshake would've been weird, right? Frankly, he doesn't trust himself to touch her at all. She's as beautiful as ever, all glowing skin and soft curves and tousled waves, and it's all he can do not to put his hands on her. Little things that are second nature to him, like laying a hand against the small of her back, or standing close enough so that their shoulders touch, are off limits now and it's a strange feeling.

He turns around just as Olivia wanders back downstairs into the kitchen, holding something behind her back. He eyes her suspiciously, cocking his head off to the left, and she whips out a deck of cards.

"Are you up for getting your ass kicked, Grant?" she teases, playfully.

"Oh, you're on," he chuckles.

* * *

Olivia moans around her fork.

"Oh my god, this is good. You've been able to cook like this the entire time we've known each other? Why have you been holding out on me?" she exclaims in mock irritation, twirling up another forkful of the delicious, creamy carbonara.

Several rounds of highly competitive gin rummy later, a game that they had played constantly on the trail and in the White House, the nerves are gone and they're having fun together, finally.

"Haven't been holding out on you, I just learned how to make pasta the other week," he explains around a mouthful of noodles.

When he had rolled up his sleeves and announced he was making pasta from scratch, she had nearly choked on her wine, but he's proven himself above and beyond a shadow of a doubt. Liv had sat at the island with him, sipping her glass of wine, watching him patiently fold egg yolks into flour, listening to stories about Teddy's latest visit. Fitz had taken him skiing for the first time and apparently it could have gone better, there had been one too many tumbles into the snow for the six-year-old's taste.

"I found this website that has like, thousands of videos, I'll bet you can look up anything and they'd have a video on it," he says, gesturing emphatically in excitement.

"You mean Youtube, grandpa?" Liv replies, stifling a laugh with the back of her hand.

He balls up his napkin and throws it at her.

"Listen, give me a break, I've been in a secret service-induced technological bubble for the past ten years, I'm still getting the hang of text messaging."

She throws her head back in laughter, one hand against her chest, and he's momentarily distracted because he'd almost forgotten how beautiful that sound is.

"Anyway," he continues, emphasizing the word, "Yes, I went on Youtube and learned how to make pasta."

They head up to the loft after dinner, deliberately occupying separate ends of the couch with James and Dolly settled into the space between them. Fitz is drinking a mug of tea, a new habit, he'd explained, after she raised an eyebrow in silent question. Liv is nursing her second small pour of wine, simply because it's delicious wine, not because she needs the alcohol to relax her.

Their conversation has lulled into comfortable silence. Fitz stares absently into the woodstove, listening to the crackle and hiss of the logs burning. She's staring at him. He can feel her staring at him and he gives her the opportunity to catch herself and look away, or say whatever is on her mind.

"You're…different," she says, finally, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" he asks, turning to meet her eyes.

"I don't know there's something, calmer about you." She's actually thinking out loud now, which lets him know she's feeling comfortable enough to give him a peek inside her head, something that always feels special, intimate.

"Well, not being President anymore will do that to a guy," he chuckles.

"No, its more than that," Olivia says softly, smiling and shaking her head.

She's quiet again for a few minutes, contemplative, studying him. Again, he lets her, watches the firelight bounce off of her exquisite cheekbones.

"The entire time I've known you, I've watched you wind up tighter and tighter, like…like a marionette with it's strings pulled too tight. And now it's like someone has just cut the string and—"

"I can breathe," he finishes for her, not at all surprised that she's been able to pick up on the change in his energy, in his body language. She sees him, she always has.

Olivia nods, taking a sip of her wine. She can tell he wants to say more, gives him a minute to compose his thoughts.

"For the first time in twenty some odd years I'm not holding an office or running for an office, and…it's a good feeling. I loved being President," he emphasizes, and she wants to tell him she knows that, she doesn't think he's ungrateful, but she holds her tongue.

"It was the worst and the best thing I've ever done. It's taken a few years but, I—I'm genuinely proud of my administration, I think we did some amazing things. But, the stress of that job, the stress of doing that job alone, the stress of doing that job in that city…my body isn't built for it, to handle that type of noise and anxiety. I learned how to manage it over the years, but honestly, I'm just not wired that way," he shrugs.

"So as much as I loved it and wanted it, you're right, it took a huge toll on me, and I don't think I even realized the extent until I left office." He pauses, wanting to find the right words.

"Doing that job turned me into someone I'm not. I was angry, and controlling, and volatile, and I hate that, I hate that so many people only knew President Fitzgerald Grant instead of Fitz. I made a lot of sacrifices to stay in that office, emotionally, physically, and I really believe that most of them were worth it, but, some of them weren't."

Her breath hitches at the way he looks at her when he says that last part, the indirect reference to their relationship. For the first time all day, she can see a hint of longing in his eyes. Longing for her? For what they almost had? Before she can decide he looks away, not wanting to upset the calm they've established.

"So, you're right. I can breathe out here, away from the chaos and the press and the politics. I feel free," he finishes, letting out a breath.

She takes a minute to absorb his words, swirling the wine in her glass and then setting it on the end table.

"I'm glad that we—that I get to see it, this side of you," she says quietly, carefully, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

"Me too," Fitz murmurs.

* * *

"What the hell is that? Some kind of beaver?"

Fitz doubles over with laughter. The next morning, they're snowshoeing up the Tenderfoot Mountain Trail and she's a few feet ahead of him.

"Listen, mister," Olivia warns, fixing him with a pointed stare, although there's laughter in her eyes too. The term of endearment slipped out, she realizes, although Fitz is too busy laughing to notice.

"I'm sorry, the way you said that," Fitz wheezes, getting a hold of himself.

He slowly crunches through the snow to catch up with her, trying not to scare the round little creature away.

"That," he says, squinting to see through the harsh glare off of the snow, even behind his sunglasses, "Is called a pika. They're related to rabbits but they don't have tails and they're a lot smaller, obviously."

"It's cute," she comments, leaning forward to try and get a better look.

"I'm not sure why he's not in a burrow, they don't hibernate but they're usually not out and about much in the winter. Doesn't matter because that little guy is about to run away in three, two—"

On cue, Dolly and James come bounding through the trees, making a beeline for the pika. The pika takes off, disappearing almost instantly. The dogs stop and turn back toward them, looking slightly disappointed.

"Do they ever actually catch anything?" Olivia asks, curious but slightly nervous to hear his answer.

"Those two? Uh, no, definitely not, they're the opposite of stealthy," he answers, whistling for the dogs to make sure they stay nearby.

"A beaver, Liv? Really? You have _seen_ a beaver, right?"

"Shut up," she giggles, giving him a shove.

* * *

The night of her first full day in Colorado, she can't sleep.

He had taken her snowshoeing for most of the morning, showing her his favorite trails and letting the dogs run off their energy for the day. They'd warmed up back at the house with tea and soup pulled from his freezer, before sitting down to resume their marathon card game (she's currently ahead by one hundred points). Fitz had made dinner, salmon and sautéed asparagus this time, and then the night had ended up in the loft again.

It was a perfect day. She can't imagine the trip going any better than it is right now, she feels calmer, more relaxed than she has in a long time. But as Olivia lies in bed, she suddenly finds herself fighting back tears. As wonderful as it feels to be here with him, deep down she's already realized that what they're doing isn't enough.

She realizes that she desperately misses him, even though he's right in front of her, even though they've been together for two days straight. Something just feels wrong, like a frame that's slightly out of focus, like their time together is in black and white when it used to be in color. It's not even the sex that she misses the most, she's realized, although she does miss it. What she misses most is their connection, that thing between them that can't be explained. They can still read each other, they'll always be able to do that because they know each other so well, but they're not in sync anymore, not the way they used to be.

If being friends isn't enough, if it's too painful, where does that leave them? The realization that if she can't have all of him, she may not be able to have him in her life at all, scares her. But approaching the idea that they might not be finished, that they might be able to try again, as a couple, terrifies her.

Hot tears slide down her temples and into her hair. She's so _angry_ with herself for letting her mind go back to that place, the place where she's missing him so much she can barely breathe. Olivia rolls over onto her side, hugging herself tightly.

 _Four more days, Olivia_

She has four more days to decide if she can risk being heartbroken again, either by the sting of his rejection, or the loss of him forever.

* * *

 **A/N: So, Liv's not sure being just friends with Fitz will ever be enough. This chapter was a little heavy on the Liv headspace, but we'll get Fitz's thoughts in the next chapter! If you're enjoying the story please review, and thank you so much to everyone that has reviewed so far!**


	3. Ch 3

Fitz slices down the mountain, skis parallel, knees bent. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp mountain air.

She had already been running on the treadmill in the gym when he came downstairs to make coffee earlier this morning, which is slightly concerning.

Olivia typically runs when she's grappling with something mentally, something she's trying to work through and burn off. Normally, he would be able to ask her if she's alright, if he can do anything to help her, but he feels like he doesn't have that right anymore. He lost the right to ask her intimate questions like that when he helped to end their romantic relationship. Fitz knows that even if he were to ask her right now, she would give him her standard "I'm fine", and move on. Because he's just her friend now.

He fucking hates being friends with her.

He hates the feeling of constantly holding himself back, not giving all of himself, not getting all of her in return. Their chemistry is ever present but there's an odd disconnect now, and it's thrown his world slightly off balance. It's changed the way they move around each other. He feels like the positive end of a magnet being deliberately kept a safe distance from its counterpart, because if he gets too close they'll crash together with devastating force that might destroy both of them. He's decided that only time will tell if this is all part of figuring out how they can be, how a friendship between them works, or if the feeling is permanent. Already, he has a sinking feeling that the painfully obvious space between them isn't going to become any less obvious.

He's never going to not miss curling up on the couch with her at night, or prepping her tea exactly the way she likes it, one of the few ways she used to indulge his desire to take care of her. His fingers still itch to pick up the phone and call her every day, wanting to share something funny the dogs did that morning, or a dream he had the night before, rather than waiting for their weekly phone calls. He'll never stop wanting to find solace in the moments right after they've made love, face buried in the soft skin of her neck, feeling her stroke his hair as they catch their breath. Being her friend feels good, great even, but it isn't everything. And with her he will always want everything. He can't help but wonder if she's realized it too, if the realization drove her to run it out this morning.

Fitz leans his torso back a little bit, pushing forward in his boots and sliding over to the left, taking advantage of the wide, empty run. Breckenridge has always been extremely welcoming, offering to close two or three passes to the public for a few hours on a weekday so that he can ski privately, appeasing the secret service. He's been skiing a few times each month and today they're on peak eight finishing up Duke's Run, one of his favorite blue passes. Despite a potentially stormy mind, Olivia had greeted him with a smile after her run, excited and nervous to ski for the first time in decades. At her encouragement, Fitz had left her over in the slow zone of greens with Greg, a ski instructor that he'd befriended.

He finishes his run and makes his way over to the bottom of Springmeier just in time to see her finishing up, going way too fast for a beginner.

"Wedge, Olivia! Wedge!" Greg is yelling.

Fitz stifles a laugh as she turns her right ski up the mountain a little too sharply and tumbles into the snow. She rolls over once, twice, and ends up flat on her back, giving a thumbs-up after a second to indicate that nothing hurts. Greg skis over to help her up and then they're finishing the run, skiing toward him.

"Stop laughing!" she yells, before she's even close enough to see that he is indeed laughing at her.

"I'm not!" he yells back, lying outright.

"You are. It's not nice to laugh at the pathetic," she says, slowing to a stop in front of him, slightly out of breath.

"Oh, I'm sure you aren't pathetic. Greg, is she pathetic?"

"Definitely not. That was your best run yet, Olivia! Up until the end there," Greg jokes, stabbing his poles into the snow.

"I may or may not have gotten a little overconfident," she admits sheepishly.

"Eh, on a green it's okay to be a little overconfident, you'll always be afraid to fall unless you just do it a bunch of times," Fitz reassures her with a smile.

"Oh, I'm a falling expert at this point, no problems there," she laughs, pulling off one of her gloves to brush her hair back.

The ring on the pointer finger of her left hand catches and reflects the bright sunlight, drawing Fitz's attention, although not for the first time this trip. He'd noticed immediately that she was still wearing doux bebe and he wasn't sure why it surprised him so much. He hasn't asked her about it and he's trying not to dwell on it. Liv has always kept the ring on, during every fight, every breakup, why should the fact that she's wearing it this time give him any hope? She pulls her glove back on, forcing his attention back to the conversation.

"Olivia, it's been my pleasure. I've gotta go wrangle a class of three year olds whose parents paid an exorbitant amount of money for me to wipe their noses and keep them upright on skis, under the guise of 'skiing lessons'," Greg says, shaking her hand.

"That sounds…fun?" Olivia laughs, shaking his hand warmly, "Thank you so much for your help, it was great meeting you."

"So next week? Arapahoe Basin?" Greg asks Fitz, unclipping his skis and starting to walk away.

"For sure, I'm in. Thanks again, man," Fitz replies, giving a wave.

"He's been teaching me how to snowboard," he says by way of explanation, and Olivia nods in understanding.

"So what do you think? Want to do a few with me?" he asks, flashing her a wide smile and nodding his head toward the pass.

"If you think you can keep up with me," she sasses, already heading toward the chairlift.

He playfully rolls his eyes and follows her, his breath catching at her flirty tone.

* * *

The resort is nice enough to clear out a small section in one of their restaurants so that they can have lunch and something hot to drink before they leave.

He can't help but drink her in with his eyes while she peruses the menu, taking advantage of the fact that she's distracted. She looks adorable in her ski clothes, he's never seen her in so much cotton and nylon before and he loves it. The gray thermal long-sleeve shirt she's layered under her jacket hugs her breasts and her tiny waist perfectly, the sleeves coming down just far enough to cover the backs of her hands. She's got a plush, deep purple scarf looped around her neck and she's wearing a knit hat that matches, her loose waves tumbling out from beneath it. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink from the cold and he watches in horror as she unconsciously bites her lip, sending a jolt of arousal straight to his groin.

He looks down at his own menu immediately, quickly trying to get himself under control.

"So, have you eaten here before? What do you usually ge—are you okay?"

She breaks off in the middle of her question, looking at him with concern. He realizes he must look a little nauseous and uncomfortable, so panicked about nearly springing an erection across the table from his _friend_.

"I'm fine, I don't think I ate enough this morning. Just got a little dizzy," he says, the statement not a total lie. She _does_ make him feel dizzy, all the time, with how much he still wants her.

"Here, take my water," she offers, noticing that he's finished his already, "Don't want you passing out on me."

"I'll be alright," he says, taking a sip of water just for show.

If she suspects that he's lying she doesn't let on, and they make quiet conversation for the rest of their meal. They've ordered hot tea to finish and she blows carefully on her cup, staring out a nearby window at the sparkling, snowy landscape.

"Are you having fun?" he asks, out of the blue.

"Skiing?" she replies, taking a sip of her tea.

"No, well yeah, but I mean in general. Are you having fun here, with me?"

She pauses, looking down into her cup, a tiny smile on her lips.

"Honestly? I love it here," she breathes, looking right into his eyes.

"Really?" he questions, raising his eyebrows, sounding a lot more surprised than he means to.

"Do I seem like I'm not having fun?" Olivia asks, brows furrowed.

"No, not at all," he says quickly, "I just didn't expect—we're kind of out in the middle of nowhere, it's so different from D.C. and I just wondered..."

"It is different, but D.C. can be overwhelming sometimes, you're not wrong about that," she agrees. When she starts speaking again her voice is soft, slow, and careful.

"It's so peaceful here. The pace is slower, it makes you feel like you have all the time in the world to do everything, anything you want. I don't know...there's something nice about it, being tucked away up here. I can see why you love it so much."

She takes a breath, looking out the window again.

"I'm always trying to get a taste of that in D.C., I think. I keep the color palette soft and calm in my apartment, so it feels like as much of a sanctuary as possible. I always went to the rose garden to think when I was working in the White House, in all that chaos, because it was quiet there. But here…you have a whole world of calm, and space. I'm a little jealous, to be honest," she says, laughing a little.

"Well, you know you're welcome any time," he says quietly, reassuring her that he loves having her around.

"I know."

He sees a hint of vulnerability in her eyes when she says it, but it disappears as quickly as she can blink. And then she yawns, widely, and he has the sudden urge to scoop her into his lap, to feel her body grow heavy against him while she falls asleep in his arms.

"Skiing wears me out too," Fitz comments instead, and she nods in agreement, smiling at him and wrapping her arms around herself.

* * *

"So, tell me again why we're not using cheese?"

"Because we don't need cheese, we're going to make cashew ricotta," she answers, rolling a lemon on the cutting board.

Fitz pulls a face.

Olivia had shocked him by offering to cook dinner, and they'd stopped at the Whole Foods in Frisco on the way home for supplies. She'd explained that she's been trying to eat a little better, learning how to cook in general, and experimenting with substitutes for meat and dairy products. They've switched places for the evening, he's seated across from her while she stands at the island, chopping and prepping ingredients.

"Hey, you said you were going to be open-minded! I promise, you're going to love this," she says, waving her knife at him and slicing the lemon in half.

"I am being open-minded! I'm just a little nervous, your track record being what it is…"

"What exactly are you getting at, Grant?"

"Listen, I'm just saying, you're awfully confident for someone who can burn Cup O' Noodles."

"Oh my god, that was _one time_! Teddy distracted me and I hit an extra zero on the microwave, it was an honest mistake," she laughs, starting to pick basil leaves off of their stem.

Their laughter trails off into awkward silence.

It's the first time they've alluded to their months in the White House. They've both deliberately avoided talking about it, not on this trip necessarily, just as a general unspoken rule. She can tell Fitz hadn't brought up the story on purpose, it had just slipped out, but now it's an elephant in the room.

"Teddy asks about you sometimes," Fitz says gently, keeping his tone light, bravely continuing the conversation.

Olivia looks up from the basil, suddenly having trouble drawing a full breath. This is terrifying new territory for them, and they tread carefully.

"We had a good time that night," she says quietly, letting herself smile a little at the memory, "You were working late and I let him dump his Legos out all over the main living room. I don't think he'd ever been allowed to do that before, he thought it was the greatest thing."

"He did," Fitz chuckles, "He asked to do it all the time after that."

He watches her try and fail to start another sentence for a few seconds after that, but he's patient, gives her the time to get her thought together. She finally clears her throat and looks up at him.

"I—I'm sorry if he was confused after I left. I never meant to—I never meant for that to happen," Liv murmurs, eyes warm and sincere.

"I know you didn't," Fitz says softly, fully appreciating how difficult it was for her to get that out. He gives them a second to breathe before he continues, brushing imaginary crumbs from the island.

"He was fine, more curious if you were going to be around to play with him some more, if anything. You make excellent towers, according to him," he continues, trying to bring levity back into the conversation.

Olivia laughs, relief evident all over her face.

"I discovered that I do build a mean Lego tower," she agrees, going back to the basil.

They're quiet for a beat, both absorbing the conversation.

"Want to help me chop mushrooms?" she asks, tentatively.

He joins her on the other side of the island, nudging her over to make room at the cutting board.

* * *

After taking one bite of the vegan stuffed shells Fitz concedes and admits that she was right, the meal is delicious. He even promises to let her try out one more vegan recipe on him before she leaves, and he can see that she's unabashedly proud of herself.

They separate for a while, and Fitz is reclining in the middle of the couch later that night when she comes out of her room, smelling like lavender. The loft is warm and dimly lit, fire crackling in the woodstove.

"That bathtub is heavenly," she groans, curling up under a blanket in the corner of the sofa closest to him out of habit, not even realizing that they're sitting closer than they have been the last couple days.

"Ah, I thought you might enjoy it," he replies, taking in the blissful expression on her face.

"I need one of those in my apartment," she says, dropping her head back to rest against the pillows, "Thank you, for the oils and the bath salts, you didn't need to do that," she continues, referring to her favorite products, which had already been in the bathroom when she arrived.

"You're on vacation, technically, you may as well relax," he shrugs nonchalantly, secretly pleased that she'd enjoyed the products.

He's got the television on, flipping through the channels with the remote. He flips past a showing of His Girl Friday.

"Ooh hey, hey—"

"I'm stopping, don't worry," he says, turning up the volume a little and tossing the remote aside.

They settle in to watch the movie.

* * *

The first thing that registers when she starts to wake up is his scent. She's surrounded by Fitz's scent and it's dark, therefore her second thought is to go back to sleep, because they must be in bed. She starts to shift around, feels him do the same next to her, against her, really, because she's right up against his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist. It feels suspiciously like he's invaded her side of the bed, close enough to share her pillow, and sure enough when she finally blinks her eyes open his face is inches from hers, his blue eyes blinking open too.

The moon is so bright that she has to squint her eyes against it, which is strange because their bed in the residence doesn't get hit with moonlight at this angle—oh.

 _Oh_.

They're not in the residence at all, she realizes, and everything comes back in a rush. They're on the couch in Fitz's house in Colorado and they haven't slept in the same bed in years and they're not even supposed to be—

At the same time that Liv's brain starts to register where she is, her body starts registering his proximity, and then she can't think at all because her reaction is so visceral. The smell of his skin and his warmth wrap around her, immediately overwhelming her senses and causing her pulse to speed up. She makes eye contact with him and it only takes a few seconds for heat to sweep through her entire body, curling low in her belly, creeping up to make her breasts ache. Her gaze automatically drifts down to his mouth, which is hovering closer now, and she swallows thickly. She's trying and failing to fight through the fog of sudden arousal, finding it difficult to catch her breath, squeezing her thighs together against the insistent throbbing. Her body is betraying her, and before she can even think about stopping she's parting her lips, tilting her head up to meet him, and they're kissing.

When it happens it's like a hiccup, or a sneeze, it's almost completely involuntary. Something happens, chemically, when they're near each other, and they're helpless against the effect. Even when they're lying to themselves, their bodies are always honest with each other.

Her lips are soft and full against his as they press their mouths together over and over again. They both lose their breath immediately because it feels so good, so _right_ , because she smells so incredible he feels like he's been drugged, and he's so warm against her that she feels like she's melting into him. She fits her mouth against his with familiarity, sucking on his top lip, sighing at the taste of him. His teeth sink gently into her lush bottom lip, pulling a soft moan from her as they ease their mouths apart and together all over again.

The fire in the woodstove has long burned out, and the loft is silent aside from their heavy breathing and the soft, wet sound of their kisses. It isn't clear whose mouth falls open first, but before long Fitz is groaning as her tongue moves in long, languid strokes over his. She sucks his tongue into her mouth and his hips flex against her thigh, hands splaying where they rest over her low back. He pulls in a ragged breath through his nose, trying to get some oxygen to his brain as he switches the angle and takes control of the kiss. Liv grips handfuls of his tee shirt, moaning as his tongue slips into her mouth, tangling with hers, probing deep. The scruff on his face rubs against her upper lip, her chin, and her toes curl with pleasure.

They're completely lost in each other.

Her small, warm hand slides underneath his tee shirt, and the feeling of her skin on his is so electrifying, such a shock to his system, that it slams him back into reality.

His eyes fly open and he quickly breaks the kiss, getting up off the couch and putting his back to her.

 _Shit, shit, shit_

His hands are shaking and he's painfully hard as he desperately tries to get his bearings.

When he turns around she's standing too, completely still, fingers against her lips. She's looking at him with an unreadable expression, her brown eyes wide and glassy. They stare at each other for a few moments, still breathing hard. He takes a tentative step toward her, but she takes two steps back, and in the next second she turns and quickly walks away from him.

He hears her bedroom door close and curses.

* * *

 **A/N: I couldn't keep them apart any longer, I tried, they just had ideas of their own! They're gonna get into some shit in the next chapter, so stay tuned for that. I am totally overwhelmed by how much you guys are liking the story! I'm having so much fun writing it and your reviews are EVERYTHING.**


	4. Chapter 4A

The next morning dawns with ten inches of fresh snow. The forecast is calling for sixteen to twenty by the time the storm moves out, and Fitz is glad that he stockpiled firewood right before Olivia arrived. They're officially in white-out conditions, snow swirling powerfully and making travel impossible.

He's down in the main living room, watching the storm happening outside. James whines softly next to him, resting his head on Fitz's thigh. He's the more sensitive dog between the two, quick to pick up on any disturbance in the house. He can sense immediately when Fitz is going out of town, or if the kids have been visiting and they're leaving again. James hasn't experienced much along the lines of Fitz being angry, or sad, but he clearly senses that something is off.

"It's okay buddy," Fitz soothes, stroking his furry head, scratching his ears.

He can hear Olivia moving around upstairs.

He wouldn't be surprised if she's stalling, avoiding him and the conversation that they obviously need to have. Kissing her last night had felt indescribably right, even though the timing of it was completely horrible. He hadn't gone after her, deciding to follow her lead and give them both space to absorb what had happened. Fitz had barely slept at all, preoccupied with thinking about what to say to her, how to tell her he's still in love with her. He's fidgeting, unconsciously brushing dog hair from his navy henley shirt, running his hands through his hair. Finally, he hears her coming down the stairs.

Fitz stays on the couch, letting her come around into his line of vision. She's wearing gray leggings and an oversized, blush colored sweater that swallows her petite frame. Her face is free of makeup and her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, a few pieces escaping to frame her face along with her bangs. She crosses her arms protectively, looking at him with a slightly guarded expression.

"Liv, last night—"

"Its okay," she interrupts, gently.

"It is?" he blinks, surprised.

"I—you were half asleep, I've had those kinds of dreams too. And I was right there, its only natural that you—"

"Me? Are you seriously—Liv, I was awake and so were you," he says incredulously, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.

Fitz is on edge immediately. He isn't going to let her brush this aside.

"Fitz, I wasn't—"

"Don't you dare put this on me, we both initiated that kiss and we both—" He stops short of saying they both wanted it, realizing that statement is heading into very dangerous territory.

She's momentarily stunned into silence. She hadn't necessarily been expecting him to take full blame and apologize, but she certainly hadn't expected him to get into it with her. He's been so nervous, so careful around her, the release of emotion takes her by surprise.

"I don't—I didn't—"

"Have you forgotten how well I know you? How well I know your body? I felt it, Liv, we didn't do anything last night that wasn't mutual. I didn't kiss you, you didn't kiss me, we kissed each other."

"I can't do this with you," she says, closing her eyes.

"You can't do what? Talk to me? Be real with me? Believe me, I know," he scoffs, standing up, anger rising in him before he can stop it.

"Don't say it like that. When have I ever been shy about getting things off my chest?"

She's keeping her voice calm, trying not to let the argument escalate.

"Sure, maybe after you've bottled your feelings up for weeks, _months_ even, so that when I finally push you a little bit you let everything out all at once."

She looks at him helplessly, her eyes pleading with him.

"Fitz, why are you doing this? Why are you attacking me? We've been having such a great time, everything has been going so well—"

"Because you're lying to me!" he exclaims with a humorless laugh, "Because I want you to acknowledge what happened! I want you to admit that you wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted to kiss you. I want you to tell me that what happened last night has been brewing beneath the surface between us since before you got here. Tell me that it felt right to you too. Don't stand there and tell me that you're perfectly happy being friends. Stop pretending that it didn't mean anything, that you didn't feel anything, we both know better."

His attitude is starting to get under her skin. She catches herself clenching her hands into fists, tension collecting across her upper back.

"Maybe we both need to admit that this friendship isn't working. We have too much history, keeping things platonic is too difficult—"

"You're right, this friendship isn't working because you still can't be honest with me," he interrupts.

"How can you even tell if I'm being honest, you've barely let me talk!" she yells, finally.

They glare at each other for a moment.

"This is so typical," he mumbles, resting his hands on his hips, walking over toward the windows.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, anger creeping into her voice.

"You're running! You always run. Don't you ever get tired of running from me? Because watching you do it exhausts _me_ , and I'm not even doing any of the work."

He's being mean and sarcastic, he knows he is, but he can't help it.

"Have you ever considered the possibility that I need space sometimes? That sometimes I run so that I can get a little breathing room to think without you shouting at me?" she shoots back.

"Right, me trying to have a mature conversation about our relationship suffocates you, I forgot."

He throws the comment out carelessly, turning his back to her and walking away a few steps.

Immediately, she's back in that room with him. She feels like she's back in the residence and they're having the same argument they had three years ago, the argument that's burned into her brain.

"Stop right there," she says quietly, her eyes flashing dangerously.

One look at her face tells Fitz he may have gone too far and he immediately regrets taking the fight in this direction. He takes a deep breath and tries to do some damage control.

"Liv, look—"

"No. You want to go there, let's go there."

"Liv, I don't—"

"Let's talk about how you plucked me out of my apartment and trapped me in the White House immediately after I'd spent the night in jail. Let's talk about how you made sure all of my clothes, all of my belongings, every last necklace and bag were in the residence so that I wouldn't have any excuse to try and leave. Let's talk about how my schedule was suddenly so packed full of dinners, and tours, and cocktail hours, and cookie deliveries, that I didn't have a second to myself to even try and absorb what happened."

"Olivia, I didn't—"

"You didn't what? You didn't think that after spending the night in a literal cage I might want the comfort of my own bed? Just for the night?" she continues, eyes filling with tears.

"You didn't think about how feeling trapped might affect me? After holding me through panic attacks and nightmares? You didn't remember that I was still dealing with PTSD on a weekly basis?"

She's crying now, and he's completely floored. Judging by how quickly they had spilled out, she's been sitting on those words for a long time. He hadn't thought about her PTSD. Why hadn't he thought about that?

"You stopped seeing me," she's saying, her voice soft and small, "As soon as I moved into the White House, I felt like you didn't see me anymore. I was trying to squeeze myself into this role that felt so wrong, I was so unhappy, and you didn't even notice. I started to think that maybe you never saw me at all," she finishes, wiping at the tears on her face.

"I was trying to—"

"You know what? It doesn't matter now, none of this matters, because we're done. We were done a long time ago and what happened last night can't ever happen again," Liv says shakily, turning around and walking toward the stairs.

"You left me!" Fitz yells, brokenly.

She turns around, and the pain she sees in his eyes takes her breath away.

"You left me," he chokes out, quieter this time, "I needed you. I needed you more than I've ever needed anyone and you weren't there. You left."

Liv doesn't have to ask what he's talking about. They've never talked about the months right after his re-election, after Gerry's death, but she knows it was difficult for him. She knows she hurt him by leaving, but now she realizes that maybe she hasn't fully grasped how much.

"I was drowning in grief, and you were off on some island vacation with your boyfriend—"

"That isn't what that was about and you know it," she interrupts, eyes blazing again.

"Whatever it was, you were gone. And so maybe I did hold on to you too tightly, but only because I was so afraid of losing you again!" he exclaims, desperate for her to understand.

"Right, and locking me up was the best solution."

"I didn't say it was right, I'm trying to tell you how I felt! If you would take one second to try and see things from my perspective—"

"Why? Because you're so great at putting yourself in my shoes? Because you thought about how I would feel when you held me hostage in the White House? When you tried to manipulate me into marrying you? When you sacrificed innocent lives and started a _war_ because of me?"

Her voice breaks on the last syllable, her chin trembling.

"All we do is hurt each other. I can't do this," she whispers, turning away from him.

"Olivia, where are you going?" he calls after her, following her up the stairs.

"I'm leaving. This was a mistake."

She's out of breath by the time she gets to the top of the stairs, walking through the loft and into her room where he catches up with her.

"Liv, there's a blizzard outside, the secret service aren't even on duty today, you can't just leave."

She pulls her suitcase onto the bed and rounds on him.

"Then I'll charter a helicopter, I'm Olivia Pope in case you've forgotten, I'll handle it," she spits out.

"You're scared," he says softly.

"Stop telling me how I feel!" she yells, throwing clothes into the suitcase, completely exasperated with him.

"You're scared, and you don't have to be," he continues as if she hadn't spoken, walking closer to her.

"Fitz, please," she says when she sees him coming toward her, knowing she's only minutes away from falling apart, from spilling the carefully hidden contents of her heart out for him to see.

"Stop running from me. _Talk_ to me."

"I just did! I just told you—"

"I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about last night. I'm talking about right now. If you're done, if we're done, why are you still wearing the ring?"

That clearly catches her off guard, her face blanching. She immediately clenches the fingers of her left hand, rubbing her thumb against the metal.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she whispers, starting to cry again.

"Why are you still wearing it, Olivia?" he asks, keeping his voice even.

"Fitz, stop," she sobs, backing away from him.

"Why are you still wearing it?"

"Please stop," she says again, squeezing her eyes shut as tears roll down her face.

"Why are you still wearing it, Liv?!" He raises his voice and it pushes her over the edge.

"Because I'm still in love with you! I still love you as much as I did three years ago, as much as I ever have! Is that what you want hear? Do you want to hear about how breaking up with you was one of the hardest things I've ever gone through in my life? How it felt like my whole world was ending? Of course I'm scared, because I don't know if I can go through that pain again. I don't know if I can give you that part of my heart again, and kissing you made me want to. Being here with you makes me want to, it makes me want to give you _everything_. Being here with you makes me wonder what the hell we've been doing for the past three years, being apart. Kissing you last night felt like coming up for air. I've been trying to get over you for ten years, and if I've realized one thing on this trip it's that I will _never_ be over you."

She looks away from him immediately, hands resting over her diaphragm as she sobs, trying to control her breathing. Liv nearly doubles over at the waist, buries her face in her hands, and breaks down right in front of him. Her posture is defeated, body shaking. Fitz has been rooted to the spot while she talks but he moves now, getting to her in two steps.

Hands over her face, she lets him pull her in and rests her forehead against his chest. She feels so small and fragile as he wraps his arms around her tightly, giving her a safe place to fall apart. She's crying the same way she did that horrible day in the bunker, loud and breathless, and every sob feels like a punch to his gut. But unlike in the bunker, she doesn't push him away. She sinks into him, letting him hold her up, wrapping her arms under his shoulders and pressing her face against his chest. Tears flood his own eyes because he _hates_ hearing her cry, even when he knows its cathartic. He rubs a hand soothingly up and down her back, rocking them slightly where they stand.

She quiets after a few minutes, resting her cheek against his chest with her eyes closed. Now that she's back in his arms she never wants him to let her go again. Hugging him isn't something she does often, actually. It's not necessarily a conscious choice, she just feels so much whenever he's holding her like this. He makes her feel safe, and cared for, and _loved_. Being that vulnerable takes a lot out of her, emotionally, and it's in her nature to shy away from the feeling. But she's already feeling more vulnerable than she's ever felt before, so she clings to him.

"I don't want to fight with you anymore," he croaks.

"Me neither," she says quietly, sniffling.

He starts to release her but she doesn't let go of him.

"Not yet," she whispers, exhaling in relief when his arms quickly wrap her up again.

"Not yet," he agrees, pressing his face to her hair and taking a deep inhale.

* * *

 **A/N: PROCEED TO CHAPTER 4B, ALSO POSTED!** was being annoying about formatting the long chapter and I wanted to get it up rather than fight with a dumb website, so I posted in two parts.


	5. Chapter 4B

**A/N: THIS IS CHAPTER 4B, MAKE SURE YOU'VE READ 4A, THEY WERE POSTED AT THE SAME TIME!**

* * *

Olivia loses track of how long they stand there holding each other. The wind is whipping around outside, but it feels like time is standing still for them, letting them be in the moment for as long as they need. Eventually, Liv pulls away from his chest but she doesn't move out of the circle of his arms. She reaches up and cups his face, stroking over his cheekbones. His eyes are sad and it makes her heart ache.

Wordlessly, she takes his hand and leads him out into the loft and over to the couch. They both sink down onto it, not touching, but close enough to feel each other's body heat. Olivia unfolds the blanket she's been using in the evenings and tucks it around herself, playing with the fringed edge.

Now that they've stopped yelling the silence in the house is deafening.

"I love you, too."

Her eyes dart up to meet his when he breaks the silence, her breath catching. When she doesn't say anything he continues, looking at her earnestly.

"You said you love me, and I want you to know that I love you too. I've never stopped loving you."

She feels like she might cry again so she nods her head in affirmation, telling him with her eyes that she understands.

"How did we let things get so…disconnected?" he muses. He's not asking her directly, he's just thinking out loud.

"We were absent, I think," she says quietly, "We stopped talking, at least about anything important. About what was happening within our relationship."

Fitz slides down to sit more comfortably on the sofa, sighing.

"You know, in the beginning, I think I wanted to believe that love would be enough, that it would be all we needed. We're so…I've never felt anything like what I feel when I look at you, not even close. I always believed that that feeling would carry us through, that it could carry us through anything," he breathes.

She tips her head to rest against the back of the couch, giving him a tiny smile.

 _Her Fitz, always the romantic_

"But…we're human. We're human and all relationships take work, even extraordinary ones. You knew that," Fitz concedes.

"I knew we were trying to make it work in the most impossible situation imaginable, and I didn't think we were strong enough yet to handle that pressure. I didn't want to be right."

They're quiet again, both lost in thought.

"I'm sorry," he says, offering the first apology, "I didn't think about how disrupting your life like that might affect your PTSD, and I should have. I never meant to hurt you, Liv, you have to believe that. I meant what I said before, I was scared of losing you. What I need you to understand is that being President…I was scared of doing that job alone, of being alone in that house. That's why I clung to you so tightly."

Now that they've gotten the ball rolling, now that they're feeling safe with one another again, it all starts to spill out. Everything that's gone unsaid, everything that needed to be said three years ago, it all comes bubbling to the surface. Three years distance from all of the hurt, all of the confusion, has given them the clarity and the courage to finally start dealing with their communication issues.

"Supporting you is one thing," she starts carefully, "I loved supporting you and I always have. But feeling like I was your sole source of happiness was something else. Being everything was so much pressure. I felt like you only needed me, I was everything, and that scared me because I needed more, I needed things outside of our relationship."

She pauses, trying to figure out how to word her next thought so that he'll understand.

"You were _my_ everything but you weren't _everything_ , to me. Does that make sense?"

"I think so," he says, nodding his head, mulling over her words.

"There was a lot of truth to what you said that night, I did need to learn how to be alone. I had to work really hard on that when I moved out here, I'm alone a lot of the time. But I've learned to appreciate it, I think, I almost crave it after I've been away."

They both stare out the wall of windows, watching the snow pile up on the balcony.

"You really weren't punishing me?" she asks softly, after a minute, "For getting my father out behind your back? Tell me, we may as well be brutally honest at this point."

She can see him thinking over the question, digging through the mess of feelings from three years ago.

"I honestly wasn't, Liv. I hate that you felt that way. You hurt me when you did that, when you lied to me, but it never even crossed my mind to _punish_ you. I felt like you were slipping away from me. You stopped confiding in me. When you found out the senators knew about West Angola, you came to me, we fixed that together, and I couldn't figure out what had changed," Fitz explains honestly.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I got scared. Everything was happening so fast, you were moving so fast with the marriage plan, and you wanted it so much. I didn't want to disappoint you, I didn't know how to explain that I—I wasn't ready, that I didn't think _we_ were ready. Marrying you for political strategy? I just…couldn't do that. I didn't know how to tell you without hurting you."

"Oh, Liv, you should have just told me what you were planning to do. I know that sounds easier said than done, but you just have to trust me," he emphasizes, dipping his head down so that she meets his eyes, "I know that I—I can be single-minded about things sometimes, and you're right, I don't always think about how you're feeling, and that's my fault. I never should have pushed you like that. But I can't read your mind either, not unless you help me. Not unless you trust me."

"I don't know how to do that," she admits quietly, "When something scares me, when something needs to be fixed, I just handle it, I don't wait for anyone else. I don't know how to trust anyone else to fix it for me because I've never had anyone to trust before."

Fitz reaches over and takes her hand, needing to touch her. She squeezes back gratefully, lacing their fingers together.

"I love that you're a fixer. I love that part of you and I don't want you to change for anyone, not even me. I love you exactly the way you are. But don't _ever_ be afraid to tell me something," he says fiercely, "If we don't talk about things, if we let it fester—"

"We're explosive," she finishes, "And we say things that we don't mean, things that ruin _everything_."

Fitz looks away, her comment evoking memories of the horrible things they'd said to one another.

"Liv, I said things the night that—when I said you were worse than—"

"I know you didn't mean it," she interrupts, not needing to hear him say it again, "We both said things we didn't mean and… those people? The people who fought in that room? Who screamed and yelled and said those ugly things? That's not who we are, not really. We can love better than that."

"Can?" he asks hesitantly, his voice cracking on the single syllable.

She nods her head slowly, staring down at her hands. When she looks up at him her warm brown eyes are hesitant, but they're also full of hope.

"I've tried to be without you, to not love you, and I can't. And I don't want to. I meant what I said to you three years ago. I want you. That hasn't changed," she says, her voice full of unshed tears.

Fitz stares at her cautiously, almost afraid to let himself believe what she's saying.

"Liv, are you sure? I need you to be sure, because we tried—"

"We didn't try. We gave up when things were the hardest. We had that fight and then we just…gave up. We didn't fight for each other. And I'm scared—I'm scared, but I want to do this with you. I'm ready to fight for you, now. And if you're not ready, or if you don't want me anymore, I underst—"

"Olivia, look at me."

She hadn't even realized she'd broken their eye contact but she looks up at him again. He pulls her hands into his lap, turning them to face each other.

"I'm always going to want to be with you," he shrugs helplessly, "I'm always going to love you. We lost our way for a while and I'm scared too, but it's worth it to me. I would rather break up with you a thousand times before we get it right, instead of not being with you at all. You're worth it to me."

She gives him a watery smile.

"You're worth it to me, too," she whispers.

He wants to kiss her so badly, but as he leans in, her face falls and she moves away from him.

"Since we're being honest, I have to—I want to do this right, and there's something you don't know."

Her eyes are sad again and she's scaring him a little bit.

"Tell me, Liv. Whatever it is—"

"Just, give me a minute. I've never said it out loud before," she says, swallowing hard.

She suddenly looks uncomfortable, like whatever she's about to tell him makes her feel sick. She takes a few slow breaths, gathering herself.

"I had a miscarriage."

* * *

The sentence hangs in the air between them.

" _What_?"

He's looking at her as if he's never seen her before, his mouth open slightly in shock. She lets go of his hand and scoots away from him a few inches, needing some space to continue the conversation.

"I was pregnant, and I had a miscarriage."

"You were pregnant?"

"Yes," she breathes.

He plants his feet on the floor, elbows on his knees, taking a second to absorb what she's just said.

"When?"

She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly.

"I found out the week we broke up. Abby got a test for me and stayed with me while I waited for the results. I'm still not sure how it happened, you know I'm on the pill but…it happened. I had an appointment to confirm the evening of the cabinet dinner," she explains gently.

"I wasn't sure I was happy about it but I was going to tell you, once I was absolutely positive, I was going to tell you," she says, quickly, trying to reassure him that she had no intention of keeping the pregnancy a secret.

"But that morning, I started bleeding," she says shakily, casting her eyes downward, "By the time I went to the appointment…it was a very different kind of appointment."

"So," he says, slowly, immediately making the connection, "The night that we had that fight, the night we broke up? You—that day? That's why you missed the cabinet dinner?"

She nods and the realization of what she must have gone through that day knocks the wind out of him.

"Jesus, Liv, you should have told me," Fitz says, running his hands through his hair.

"How? I came back to the residence and we had that fight...and then we were over. How was I supposed to tell you that I lost our baby?"

The guilt in her eyes takes him by surprise. She feels guilty? For something that was completely out of her control?

"Please come here," he pleads softly. She looks so sad and scared, he can't not have her in his arms anymore.

She lets him pull her into his lap, taking comfort in his warmth, in the security of his arms around her.

"Liv," he calls softly, waiting until she looks at him, "It wasn't your fault, you didn't do anything wrong."

Her breath hitches on a sob as soon as he starts to say it, as if she's been waiting to hear those words from him, _needing_ to hear them.

"I know that. Realistically, I know that. The doctor told me that miscarriages happen all the time, she said they happen for lots of reasons, or for no reason at all. I just—" she breaks off.

"I like to fix things. And I couldn't fix this," she finishes quietly.

She lays her head on his shoulder and they're both quiet for a minute, reflecting on the loss.

"I was seven weeks along," she says, wanting to give him more details, wanting him to somehow be part of the experience.

"It didn't really hurt. I thought it would but, it didn't. I almost wanted it to hurt…I guess, so I could really know that it was over? I had some cramping but nothing major, no more than when I used to ask you to dig the heating pad out of the closet for me," she remembers, feeling his arms tighten around her.

She closes her eyes, drawing strength from his embrace.

"You're not…I thought you might be angry with me for not telling you," she says quietly, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Of course I'm not mad at you. I do wish you would've told me, but I understand why you didn't," Fitz replies carefully, rubbing a soothing palm up and down her back.

"Liv, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you went through that by yourself," Fitz says, hurting for her.

Liv presses her forehead against the side of his neck and lets him hold her, like she knows he would have if she'd told him three years ago, even if he was angry with her. She stays quiet for a while, appreciating the fact that he's hearing about her miscarriage for the first time, giving him a moment.

"The doctor asked me when I thought we'd conceived and I had to tell her I honestly had no idea. I think she was a little bit scandalized that we were having that much sex," she recalls, ready to lighten the mood a little, letting a small laugh bubble out.

Fitz chuckles, remembering their first few months in the White House.

"All those nights we should have been talking, we were having sex instead. Incredible sex, mind you, but we weren't exactly solving anything," he jokes, relieved when she laughs too.

"We don't always know how to talk to each other, but know how to have incredible sex. We'll work on the talking part," she sighs.

"We will," he echoes, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I've wondered over the years, if I had told you about the miscarriage maybe we wouldn't have fought that night. Maybe we wouldn't have…but I think it would have just prolonged the inevitable. There was too much damage at that point, too many lies and misunderstandings between us," she muses, completely content to stay in his arms, one of her hands playing with a thread escaping from the stitching of his shirt.

"There was a lot we weren't talking about. A lot that we still need to talk about," he says, feeling her nod against his neck.

"I'm so…can we not talk anymore right now?" she asks quietly, "We aren't going to get through it all in one sitting."

"You say that like it's a seven course dinner," Fitz replies, laughing a little bit, "But I know what you mean. I feel like we just did ten sessions of couples therapy in one day."

She giggles, relief seeping through her entire body after their emotional morning.

She lifts her head from his shoulder, resting her forehead against his. He nuzzles his nose against hers, sweetly. His left hand comes up to cup her face and he leans in, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb.

"Can I—I want—"

"You don't ever have to ask me that," she murmurs, pulling him in.

Olivia cradles his face with both hands and pulls him in to a long kiss. Unlike their kisses last night, which had been hot and lust-filled, their kisses now are laced with love. Long presses turn into short pecks, which turn into something in between, something playful with a little bit of tongue. Their hands have permission to wander now and they do, over shoulders and jawlines, stroking down backs and threading through hair. After a few minutes Fitz pulls away, cupping her face.

"Is this real?" he asks, tears in his voice.

"It's real," she whispers, nodding, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb.

He runs the back of his finger down her nose, letting himself really look at her for the first time since she arrived.

"You are so gorgeous," he murmurs, "How is it that you keep getting more beautiful?"

"Stop," she mumbles, blushing and casting her eyes downward.

"Your hair is different," he continues, softly, "It looks like it did when we first met."

"It's longer than its been in the past few years, but I've always liked bangs on myself," Olivia replies, touching her ponytail self-consciously.

"I like it long," Fitz says thoughtfully, settling his hands on her waist.

"I like _this_ ," she counters, rubbing her fingertips through his short beard.

"You do?" he asks, genuinely surprised.

She bites her lip a little bit, smiling and nodding her head slowly. His breath catches at the way she's looking at him, warmth stirring deep in his belly.

She's leaning in to kiss him again when a short bark, followed by whimpering breaks them out of their reverie. Fitz whistles for the dogs and they come running up the stairs, a mess of nails on hardwood and slobbery tongues. They're both agitated when they come around to the front of the couch, whimpering and whining.

"What's wrong with them?" Liv asks, brow furrowed. She slides off of Fitz's lap and gets on the floor with Dolly, shushing her and scratching her furry cheeks.

"They didn't like us yelling. They probably hid as soon as we started and they're just now coming out to see if the coast is clear," Fitz explains, dodging James' tongue as the dog hops onto the couch and immediately tries to lick his face.

Liv pouts at him and turns back to Dolly, cooing to her softly. Both dogs seem content after a few minutes, confident that the tension in the air has dissipated.

"Hey guys, you wanna go out? You wanna go out?" Fitz asks the dogs in an excited whisper.

Immediately they're whining with excitement, jumping around and running circles around the couch. Olivia laughs at them, standing up in time to see them bound down the stairs, skidding across the floor.

"Come down and watch, they're ridiculous in fresh snow," Fitz says, reaching for her hand.

She takes it and lets him pull her snugly against his side, suddenly not wanting to be separated from him for even a moment.

* * *

They spend the rest of the day inside, watching the blizzard, drinking tea, playing cards, and watching movies. They pick up where they left off and give themselves the afternoon to enjoy each other, leaving any more serious conversation for another day. Slowly, the pieces start to fall back into place. All of the things they've held back, their natural magnetism toward one another, they give in now. They flirt, they tease, they kiss, and they start to ease back into being a couple.

At one point Fitz heads upstairs to take a quick shower, and when he comes back he finds Olivia sound asleep on the couch, James spooned up against her chest, and Dolly draped over her legs. Unexpectedly, his eyes burn with tears. She was always supposed to be here. She fits seamlessly into this life. They haven't discussed how things will play out when her vacation comes to an end, but he hopes she'll want to spend a good portion of her time here with him.

Later, Fitz comes up behind her as she's finishing the last of the dishes, rinsing plates and loading them into the dishwasher. He's a little tentative at first, but she relaxes into his arms and in an instant it feels like they do this every day. Hasn't she always been here with him? Hasn't she always offered to take care of the dishes after he's cooked dinner?

He bends down to press his face against her neck, nuzzling the expanse of soft skin there. Instantly, every single one of her nerve endings is alive. The hair on his jaw scrapes gently over her skin and goosebumps break out all over her body. She sighs as he starts to press warm kisses up and down her neck, his hands sliding around to rest low on her belly. Covering his hands with hers, she leans back into his touch and dips her head to one side, giving him more access.

"Fitz?" she breathes, dragging his hands up over her stomach, enjoying the contact.

He "mmm's" a response, his mouth busy tracing her jaw, nipping at her pulse point.

"I think… _oh_ …I think we should wait to have sex," she says, softly.

That gets his attention and he lifts his head from her neck, gazing at her reflection in the kitchen window.

"For how long?" he asks, pressing a few more kisses against her neck.

"Until we get married," she answers matter-of-factly.

She watches the color drain out of his face, and he looks like she's just handed him a death sentence. He takes a second to process her request, really thinking it over.

"Wow…okay, well, if that's what you—"

Olivia bursts into laughter, leaning over the sink and then turning around in his arms, dropping her forehead against his chest. She grips his forearms, giggling uncontrollably.

"Your face," she gets out in between peals of laughter, looking up just in time to see his expression go from shock, to relief, to wide-eyed laughter.

"Oh my god, Liv, why would you do that to me?" Fitz laughs incredulously, taking her by the shoulders, watching as she wipes tears from her eyes and tries to catch her breath.

"That was too easy," she giggles.

"You're in trouble now," he warns, pressing his fingers around her ribcage and tickling her mercilessly.

"No, no, no! I'm sorry, Fitz, I'm sorry, I was kidding, stop it!" she laughs, trying to get away from him.

He releases her eventually, picking her up and depositing her on the counter next to the sink, moving to stand between her thighs. She wraps her arms around his neck and smacks one long kiss against his lips, smiling as the last of their laughter dies down.

"I do want to wait though," Liv says, sobering, keeping her arms around his neck.

Fitz cocks his head to the side, questioning.

"Just until tomorrow," she clarifies, "I don't want—it's been a long time for us, and so much has happened today already. I want us to get some distance from this morning, from the yelling, to have some time to process."

"Okay," Fitz says, simply.

"Okay? That's it?" she asks, surprised he's agreed so easily.

"I think it's a good idea. Don't get me wrong, I want you, badly," he says, his voice dropping lower and sending a shiver up her spine, "But, we always fall into bed the second we're back together. This time feels different, we should try something different, don't you think?"

"Yeah," she nods, smiling, "Something different."

He pulls her forward and connects their lips in a series of soft pecking kisses, deliberately keeping their hips apart to avoid getting carried away.

"I want you next to me tonight, though. Can we do that?" he asks softly, nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

"Oh, I'm not sleeping anywhere but next to you, mister," she murmurs, kissing him gently.

* * *

 **A/N: So, they still have a lot to talk about but they're on the road to recovery! Just to clarify, I decided way at the beginning of planning this not to include the canon abortion. I just can't wrap my head around writing Fitz's reaction to it, I'll leave that to writers who are much better than me. I have no problem telling anyone that I'm pro-choice, but I'm of the opinion that the abortion on Scandal was gratuitous, purely for shock value, and it has no place in my universe. Moving on...oh man, you guys, this chapter. I've had pieces of this written since I started the story, I couldn't wait to get here and write this. I had so much fun writing dialogue, for the first time ever, I hope you guys like it! I am so blown away by all the reviews, thank you so so SO much, I'm so glad you're loving my version of Olitz.**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Happy 2016! Starting the year off right with a nice dose of happy Olitz. I needed a little break from writing the serious convos and I thought you guys might enjoy a lighter chapter.**

* * *

"Hey!" Olivia calls from the living room.

"What?" he answers, looking up from the pan of onions he's caramelizing.

"Come here."

"Why?" Fitz chuckles, peering through the doorway, trying to see where she is.

"Just come here," she repeats.

Smiling to himself, he puts the wooden spoon down, lowering the heat. He walks around into the living room just in time to see her launch a tennis ball from the couch into the depths of the dining room, James and Dolly tearing off after it. Liv is lounging on the sofa with a glass of wine in her hand, smiling broadly when he stops in front of her, hands on his hips.

"You summoned?" he asks, raising his eyebrows playfully.

She makes a show of reaching around to put her glass on the end table. Lying back down against the pillows she wordlessly reaches her arms up toward him, beckoning him down to her. Fitz can't help but burst into laughter.

"Really, Liv?"

"I haven't kissed you in almost thirty minutes," she explains, a hint of a whine in her voice.

"Oh, well, we definitely need to fix that," he replies lowly, already scooting her hips toward the back of the couch so that he can sit down.

As soon as he's close enough her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. She hums contentedly as his hands span her waist, flexing against the material of her sweater.

"Much better," she murmurs when they break apart.

"Mmm, more," he rumbles, kissing her again, pressing her back into the couch, cradling her face in his hands, "I love kissing you…missed it."

"Kiss me, _kiss me_ ," she whispers.

They kiss heatedly, exchanging murmurs and happy sighs. The dogs come back with the tennis ball and nudge at Fitz's thigh but he gently shoos them away, reluctant to stop kissing her. Eventually they break apart, breathing a little harder than normal.

"How're you feeling?" he asks, brushing her bangs away from her eyes.

"I'm starting to get sore now," she groans, stretching out against the sofa.

He had taken her snowboarding all morning, warning her that there was a significant learning curve for people who had never even been on a board before. After a few minutes and several tumbles into the snow, she'd announced that "significant learning curve" was an understatement. Luckily, she'd been able to laugh at herself and they'd had a fantastic time. She loved being able to touch him again, holding onto his hands and forearms as he helped her stay upright on the beginner sections, letting him pull her up out of the snow every time she fell over. Eventually, she announced that she'd had enough and he left her in the heated café with a hot tea and a selection of the latest bestsellers, whooping something about fresh powder. An hour later he'd returned with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, wanting to know if she felt like homemade pizza for dinner.

"I can massage the kinks out later for you, you know, if you want," he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle her ear, breathing hotly over it.

The breath shivers out of her at the feeling, and she gasps when he slides both hands between the couch and her jeans, cupping and squeezing her ass.

" _Fitz_ ," she hisses, pulling on the curls at the nape of his neck.

"What?" he asks innocently, giving the supple cheeks another firm squeeze "You fell on this, literally, hundreds of times today, I'm just making sure there's no permanent damage."

"Shut up," she laughs, swatting at his back.

"The onions are gonna burn," he groans, reluctantly dragging himself away from her and sitting up, "Can you come stir them for a minute while I take these guys out?"

"Sure," she nods, following him into the kitchen.

"I'm going to walk them up the trail a bit so they don't lose their minds in here tonight, and then we'll be back," he says, shrugging into his heaviest jacket.

The dogs are dancing around their feet, getting in the way, and he snaps his fingers at them sharply. They immediately go to the sliding door and sit down, whining impatiently.

"So, just let these cook for another minute and then spread them out on top," he explains, indicating the onions and the nearly finished pizza, "After that we just need to add cheese and put it in the oven. While it's baking we can go back in there and…relax."

He pulls her against him and presses one slow kiss to her mouth. Her eyes are warm and dazed when he pulls back, filled with anticipation.

"Hurry back," she says softly, regaining enough of her composure to give him another short kiss, playfully pushing him toward the door.

She watches at the sliding door for a minute, laughing as Dolly and James immediately start bounding through the snow, quickly getting distracted from the task at hand until Fitz yells, directing them back to the trail. Walking back to the stove she pokes at the onions, decides they're finished, and spreads them onto the pizza with a pair of tongs. Pouring herself a little more wine Olivia eyes the crust of the pizza, remembering from somewhere that brushing crust with olive oil helps with browning. Deciding to take some initiative, she wanders over to the pantry in search of the bottle of oil.

She enters the walk-in pantry and flips on the light, realizing she hasn't been inside before. She almost gasps at how expansive it is, Fitz clearly hadn't spared any expense. Everything is meticulously organized, dry pasta, grains, flours, and canned goods. There are infused olive oils and aged balsamic vinegars, coconut oil and rice vinegar, grain mustards and barbecue sauces. He apparently has a backup stash of tea, lined up by type, starting with black teas and progressing downward to oolong, green, and herbal. She walks along the shelves checking out the various condiments, different hot sauces, various flavors of local honey, something called "liquid smoke", the shelves seem to be stocked with everything one could possibly need. At the back of the small room she finds an impressive collection of spices, all housed in glass mason jars and labeled with stickers.

Liv is holding a jar of saffron, examining the thin orange fibers, when something catches her eye. All of the walls of the pantry are white, except for the wall behind the wire shelving holding the spices. She pulls a few more jars down, exposing more of the wall, and realizes there's a section of wood directly behind the shelf. Looking at the rack a little more closely, she can see that it's actually suspended from a track attached to the ceiling. Carefully, she pushes against the side of it and much to her surprise the rack slides smoothly to the left, completely exposing the wall behind it. The wall behind the rack isn't a wall at all, it's a door.

Eyebrows furrowed, Liv pushes and pulls against the flushed mount handle, finally trying left to right and realizing it's a pocket door as it disappears into the wall. The open door reveals a tiny landing and the top of a stone staircase that curves down, to the right, and into complete darkness. She spots a light switch directly across from her and flips it. Light floods the room at the bottom of the staircase, casting a faint, warm glow up the stairs. She hesitates for a moment, and then, feeling slightly like she's stumbled into some kind of movie, Liv starts to walk down the stone staircase, wondering if she's about to discover his secret collection of Star Wars memorabilia or something. When she gets to the bottom of the winding staircase, her hand flies over her mouth in shock, the breath stalling in her chest.

It's a wine cellar.

And it isn't just any wine cellar, it's the most beautiful wine cellar she's ever seen. She takes a few steps inside, trying to process everything that's in front of her. Running her hand along the wall, she can see that the natural rock that must lie beneath his home has been carefully preserved and groomed, accented with additional pieces of colored rock set into the wall to enhance the rustic look. The cellar is lit with the same cozy recessed lighting that he has in the rest of the house, an additional lamp sitting on top of a small tasting table at the front end of the rectangular room. The tasting table has a cabinet beneath it that houses a few dozen glasses, the same long-stemmed glasses that she prefers, and there are several bar stools around the front of it.

The wine racks are made of oak, a lighter wood that still manages to be rich in color and texture, lining the walls and extending from floor to ceiling. They vertical racks are divided unevenly into different geometric shapes, so that some bottles are clustered into triangles and others are lined up inside squares. The back of the room stops with an archway that leads into a small, separate alcove. Inside the alcove are six, stair-shaped racks, bottles nestled into each groove with their labels on display.

After she's taken in the room, her attention goes to the bottles of wine themselves. She immediately realizes that, like the pantry, the cellar is meticulously organized, separating the wines first by variety. The rack immediately to her left is full of Pinot Noir, lined up by vintage. Walking to the next rack she can see labels indicating Merlot, and then another rack with Malbec. She walks past a rack of Cabernet, another with Bordeaux, and another with Burgundy. The next few racks contain more obscure grape varieties like Dolcetto, Nero d'Avola, and a few kinds that she's heard of but has never been able to find before.

Her breath catches again when she realizes most of the wines in each rack are favorites of hers, wines that she's mentioned to him or that she drank in his presence, cajoling him into trying a sip although he constantly argued that his palette didn't appreciate the layers of flavor as much as hers did. 2005 Beck Burgenland Pinot Noir from Austria, 2007 Tenuta dell'Ornellaia Merlot from Italy, 2002 Bond St. Eden Cabernet from California and countless others, he's stocked them all, at least ten bottles of each sitting neatly in the vertical racks. There must be hundreds of bottles of wine in the cellar, enough to last years.

Liv stands in the middle of the room, completely overwhelmed by the incredible amount of time and thought that he's put into the craftsmanship of the cellar and the collection of wine. There's absolutely no doubt in her mind that he'd designed this specifically for _her_ , and she couldn't have put it together any better if she tried.

She's running a careful hand over one of the bottles when Fitz appears on the staircase, looking a little apprehensive. Liv looks up at him, her eyes swimming with tears, lips still slightly parted in shock. He descends into the room slowly, coming to stand at the bottom of the stairs. She turns to face him, completely speechless, shaking her head ever so slightly in disbelief.

"I—um," Fitz clearly hadn't expected her to find the cellar and he's struggling to explain himself.

"You—we weren't—" Olivia tries, clearing her throat, trying to keep the tears out of her voice, "You drew up the plans for this house two years ago. We were barely talking. How did you—did you—"

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and smiles softly.

"I just…I've always wanted to build you something like this," he admits, shrugging, "In the Vermont house, we couldn't really have any kind of basement for structural reasons and so I couldn't build it for you there, and we never lived there anyway. And then I was building this place and I couldn't—I _had_ to. Building this house without including this cellar would have been like admitting that you'd never be here with me…and I just couldn't do that. Deep down, I always hoped."

His explanation makes the tears fall faster. She doesn't think, she lets her instincts take over and flies into his arms. He catches her, stumbling backward a little bit, meeting her mouth when she kisses him desperately. They devour each other, tongues exploring, hands clutching. Olivia breaks away to press frantic little kisses against his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. When they finally calm, stopping to catch their breath, she cradles his face and murmurs against his lips.

" _Take me upstairs_."

* * *

He shuts the bedroom door and crowds her up against it, getting in her space, slowly kissing her senseless. Reaching over to the light switch he flicks the lights on and dims them, bathing the room in a soft glow.

"Mmm, ambiance, I like it. Very smooth, but you don't need to worry, I'm a sure thing," Olivia teases in a low voice, playing with the hem of his shirt.

"You should've told me years ago all I needed to do to secure your undying love was build you a secret wine cellar," he quips, peeling the gray cashmere wrap sweater from her body.

His mouth goes straight to the swell of her breasts, visible just above the scoop neckline of the tank top she's wearing underneath. He hums in satisfaction, slowly kissing the buttery soft skin beneath her collarbone. Her hands slide over his shoulders and into his hair, resting there for a moment and then guiding him up into a kiss.

"You've never needed to secure anything," she murmurs, "I've always been yours."

They kiss languidly, sighing in satisfaction at every press, every pass of tongue. For once, they aren't in a frantic hurry to reunite their bodies. The urgency of a three-year separation is there, but they luxuriate in the familiarity of each other, letting the arousal burn and build.

"Have I mentioned how much I love this?" she breathes, rubbing her palms against his beard.

"You have," he says with an amused little smile, "It doesn't feel scratchy?"

"Mmm-mmm," she sighs, "Looks so sexy on you, feels so good."

Her hands go to his shoulders as he flicks open the button of her jeans and lowers the zipper, dipping his mouth back to her neck, deliberately nuzzling his face against her skin. He folds the denim down and away from her hips instead of pushing the material off completely, thumbs rubbing circles over her hipbones, pushing her tank top up to expose more of her stomach. His warm hands spend endless minutes caressing the skin he's uncovered, gripping her hips, palming her belly, all while continuing the sweet torture of his lips and tongue against her neck. Her fingers are wrapped in his hair and her chest is heaving softly by the time he pulls back to look her over. Standing there half-undressed, his eyes running over her hungrily, is one of the most erotic things she's ever experienced. Her skin tingles every place he's touched her, and before she can move he steps forward again, fitting her against him and sucking her bottom lip into his mouth.

Her hands slide underneath his shirt, pushing it up and prompting him to pull it over his head. She drinks in the sight of his chest, his toned abs, his broad shoulders, running her hands over every place that her eyes touch.

"Livvie," he breathes as she sucks a kiss just beneath his collarbone, lightly tracing his nipples with her fingertips.

"Call me that again," she whispers, rubbing firmly over his cloth-covered erection, making his hips flex into her hand.

He hasn't called her "Livvie" in years, hearing him use that particular nickname makes her feel warm all over.

"Missed you, Livvie," he murmurs, taking his time dragging the tank top over her head.

As soon as her bra hits the floor his hands cup her breasts, squeezing and palming lightly, rolling her hardened nipples against his palms. She moans, her head dropping back against the door, nails digging into his lower back. They both groan when he finally presses his hips against hers, pinning her against the door and rolling hard. She pushes back against him, snaking her hands between them to pull his belt open. The familiar clink of the buckle elicits an almost Pavlovian response within her body, making her flush hot. Before she can get his pants open he's kissing his way down, lavishing attention on her breasts, dipping his tongue into her belly button. He pulls her jeans and underwear down all at once, prompting her to step out of them while he sucks kisses against her low belly.

He presses kisses lower and lower, making her start to lose any kind of coherent thought, and she knows he wants to go down on her. _God,_ if she doesn't want to lose herself to it, but right now she wants him inside of her more.

"Fitz… _Fitz_ …Fitz, stop," she pants, trying to get his attention.

She pulls gently on his curls, bringing him back up and wrapping her arms around him.

"Later, okay? Need you," she murmurs, tilting her head up to kiss him and going back to work on his pants.

His erection throbs at her admission and he pulls her closer, capturing a nipple between his teeth. He can't resist trailing his fingers down between her thighs as he kicks off his pants and boxers, running them through the slippery wetness and rubbing a few circles against her clit.

"Fitz, now," she whimpers, trying to coax him over to the bed.

She wraps her arms around his waist, drawing him into a kiss and spinning them around so that she's walking backward, finally climbing up onto the mattress. She kneels in the center of the bed, and he already knows exactly how she wants to make love.

They don't have the kinkiest playbook when it comes to sex positions, not that they haven't experimented. Every once in a while they'll both crave something new, but most of the time their natural physical chemistry is more than enough keep things interesting. Liv is of the opinion that missionary is highly underrated, often craving the feel of his weight on top of her, loving the access to his toned back, his ass, his lips. Sometimes she loves to be on top, relishing the opportunity to tease his neck and ears, to ride him until they're both spent. He never says no to taking her from behind, either kneeling or spooning, the opportunity to wrap around her body and touch her from every angle giving him endless pleasure.

They deliberately choose the lotus position when they need to feel as close as possible, when they need to completely lose themselves in each other. It forces them to keep things slow, no matter how turned on they are, and it keeps them close, literally wrapped around one another. Rocking in his lap, looking into his eyes, it's the most intimate position she's ever tried, and she's never done it with anyone except Fitz.

"C'mere," she beckons, softly.

He maneuvers onto the center of the bed and helps her into his lap, bending his outstretched knees a bit to make space for her. She lets his hips push her thighs open as he pulls her close, keeping her legs unwrapped for leverage as she uses his shoulders to lift herself. Fitz can tell immediately that it's been a while for her, he can feel it in her muscles when he pushes against her opening. He's intimately familiar with what she usually feels like when he presses inside her and she's a little bit tense, breathing unevenly against his cheek as she lowers down onto him. Her brow furrows when he's halfway inside and she lets out a strained moan, her arms tensing almost imperceptibly around his shoulders. He catches her hips, holding her up, helping her go slower. Her eyes drift open when she realizes he's sensed her slight discomfort, and then he's kissing her, distracting her with the pleasurable sensation of his tongue against hers.

As soon as he's all he way inside her his thumb goes to her clit, massaging slowly.

" _Fitz_ ," she sighs, on the edge immediately, the fullness of him combined with the pressure against her clit making her belly pull taut.

He hadn't intended to make her come like this but she's already whimpering, starting to rock a little bit, so he redoubles his effort. She presses her forehead against his, a continuous string of moans escaping her lips as he presses harder, circling faster, pushing her closer.

"Oh god, Fitz, I'm—"

"Come for me, Livvie."

She comes hard a second later, her mouth falling open, her whole body tensing and then writhing against him. His lips part as her muscles contract around him over and over again, and he growls low in his chest. Her moans are fractured as she presses her face into his neck, still coming breathlessly, riding out the powerful waves. Arms around his neck, she bites into the corded muscle in pleasure, rubbing her breasts against his chest. Her thighs tremble and she curses against his lips when he presses a few more hard circles against her clit, drawing out the last bit of her climax.

Another rush of wetness accompanies her orgasm and she rocks up and down experimentally, coating him with it, feeling her muscles relax completely. Liv wraps her legs around him, settling fully into the position, getting comfortable. Staring into his eyes, she cradles his face and kisses him softly, rubbing her thumbs over his jaw. She wraps her arms around his neck again and starts to roll her hips, coaxing him into a steady rhythm that feels so good she can barely breathe.

"Perfect, _fuck_ , you feel perfect," he murmurs, nuzzling her jaw and then capturing her lips in another kiss.

"Been so long, want you so badly, _god_ , Fitz," she whimpers, wrapping herself tighter around him, desperately pulling him closer.

"Shh, I'm right here, I'm yours," Fitz soothes, stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs.

They're so close that they can't do much thrusting, rocking into each other and swaying sensually instead. Their kisses alternate between light, playful smacks, and deep, soulful presses. Liv lets herself get lost in the moment, still gazing into his eyes, feeling his thumbs rub circles against her sensitive nipples. She buries her face in his neck and breathes in his familiar scent, kissing the dip where his neck meets his shoulder. She'd never even let herself entertain the idea that she might get to have him like this again, to feel him against her, inside her, around her. But here they are. She isn't usually one to cry during sex, but tears creep up on her before she can stop them, the intimacy of being with him like this overwhelming her. He opens his eyes when he feels her breath hitch.

"Hey, hey, are you hurting?" he asks softly, stopping the movement of his hips immediately.

"No, no, don't stop. _Don't stop_ ," she breathes, sighing in contentment when he resumes their gentle rhythm, "You feel so good. I just… _oh_ …I missed you. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," he rasps, "Missed making love with you. Missed your eyes, missed your voice."

He's affected too, his voice catching slightly. His hands move from her hips to her back, one settling between her shoulder blades and the other sliding down to cup her bottom, holding her close. She slides her arms under his shoulders, pressing hot kisses down the side of his throat.

"Mmm, missed being inside you," he continues, doing something with his hips that makes her head tip back with a sexy, satisfied sound.

" _Oh_ , right there, baby, do that again," she moans, grinding her hips down.

He repeats the motion and she squeezes her muscles around him, making him groan. Liv concentrates on their rhythm for a while, purposefully tightening around him as she rocks her hips back and releasing as she rocks forward. It drives him insane quickly and he drops his forehead against her shoulder for several long breaths, lost in the sensation. She trails her lips over his ear, running her tongue over the shell, biting gently on the soft, sensitive lobe. He brings his forehead back to hers and she waits for him to meet her eyes again, resting her top lip against his. She smiles against his lips, puckering to kiss him every few thrusts, loving the tortured sounds of pleasure he's making as she contracts rhythmically around him.

"Liv, I need—I— _ungh_ ," he moans, squeezing her hips.

She leans back, prompting him to change their position. He cradles her body against his, carefully maneuvering her down onto her back without breaking their connection. Wrapping her legs higher around his waist, she moans into his mouth as he arranges himself on top of her. She can tell Fitz is holding his orgasm back, keeping his hips still and groaning into her neck.

"Move, baby," she encourages, her back arching at the first hard thrust of him inside her, her breath escaping on a long sigh.

They move together the way only two people with implicit trust and love between them can, completely lost to sensation, settled into a familiar rhythm. He loses himself in her softly clasping heat, in the scent of her hair, in the sound of her sighs. The warmth of his skin pulls her under, the delicious stretch of him and her name on his lips combining to make a heady, intoxicating cocktail.

Fitz can tell she's close again by the pitch of her moans, the way her hips are starting to jerk and lose rhythm. He drops his hips down so that he's rubbing against her clit and she cries out immediately, dragging her nails down his back. He knows her body well enough to know he's in the right spot, he can feel her squeezing around him with every thrust. Her orgasm sweeps through her suddenly and her back arches, warmth unfurling across her hips and spreading through her entire body. He stills as soon as she starts to come around him, groaning loudly and moving in one hard thrust as he starts to spill into her.

He's emotional when he comes, panting and groaning her name over and over again. Her neck is damp as she hugs him close, feeling his chest heave with a sob. Liv swallows hard against her own tears, trying to catch her breath, stroking her fingers soothingly through his hair and down the plane of his back. His face nestles into her shoulder as he thrusts gently through his orgasm, still breathing unevenly. She contracts her muscles around him one more time and he moans brokenly, trying to haul her closer even though they're as close as they can get. Finally lifting his head from her shoulder he nuzzles against her palm when she cups his face, noticing that her eyes are wet too, kissing her softly.

"We're a mess," she laughs quietly against his lips, making him laugh too as she tenderly brushes tears from his eyes with her thumb.

Her thumbs trace his lips and he kisses them.

"You wreck me," he rasps, staring down into her eyes in awe, "Making love to you is…it's—"

"It's madness," she whispers, "It's exactly the right kind of madness."

* * *

 **A/N: "the right kind of madness" is a line from the Adele song Sweetest Devotion :-)**


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: THANK YOU so much for your continued support of this story! Your reviews mean the world to me, I read every single one. This chapter picks up right where we left off, the same night. I just got a question about this so I'm editing to add that the last scene of this chapter starts Liv's 5th and final full day in Colorado...maybe... ;-)**

* * *

"Talk to me."

Freshly showered and full of delicious homemade pizza, they're curled back into his bed, sharing a pillow.

"About what?" she smiles, brushing a damp curl off of his forehead.

"I don't know. Tell me something," he requests softly, rubbing his hand over her cotton-covered hip.

"Like what?" she murmurs.

"Tell me what you missed about us," he offers.

"Okay," she breathes, "I missed finishing your sentences."

That makes him chuckle for some reason.

"I missed that too," he agrees, smirking.

"I missed waking up with you," she continues, ghosting her fingers over his cheek, his lips, "Talking about how busy our schedules were that day, and then hiding in bed for a few more minutes anyway."

Her face sobers and he can tell immediately that she's gathering the courage to tell him something important. She looks shy all of a sudden, breaking eye contact and absently playing with the edge of the sheet.

"I missed feeling safe," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper, "For a long time, I didn't feel safe anymore. After I was taken…there were so many nights that I ached for this. I was angry with you, but I wanted you. I needed one minute."

He's momentarily silenced by the gravity of what she's just shared. She doesn't like to bring up her kidnapping, or the months that followed, so the fact that she's talking to him about it willingly is a huge step.

"I would have come to you in a heartbeat—"

"I know that, I'm not saying it to make you feel guilty. I knew I could call you, but I was too stubborn, too proud, to admit that I needed someone, to admit that I needed _you_. The night that I came to you, on the balcony, that was the first good night's sleep I'd had in months. After we broke up, it was hard to go back to that place."

He looks upset, so she kisses him softly, smoothing the lines on his forehead. She can tell he's thinking and she waits patiently, folding an arm underneath her head so that she's level with him. The thought has been circling inside his head for days, ever since their fight. They need to have this conversation, and he feels the words bubbling up and out.

"Liv, I'm never going to be able to apologize for trying to save your life," he says finally, looking directly into her eyes.

She stares back for a moment and then casts her eyes downward, slowly nodding her head.

"I know," she replies quietly, "It was just…it was an impossible situation, I can recognize that now."

"Do you still think I shouldn't have declared war?" he asks, before he can stop himself.

Liv shifts around on the bed, sitting up next to him and crossing her legs. She stays close enough so that her knees are touching him and takes his hand.

"No, I don't think you should have," she admits on an exhale, lacing their fingers together, "It wasn't the right decision. I can't tell you that I think what you did was right, just like you can't apologize for doing it."

"I don't think its fair for you to judge me," he says, calmly but boldly, "Can you honestly say you blame me for doing what I did, when my other option would've potentially caused your death? Are you saying you think you could've made that call, situation reversed? That you could've made the 'right' call?"

He can see her getting uncomfortable, and she starts to swing her legs off the bed like she wants to get up and pace the room.

"Hey, _hey_ , don't," he says softly, gently grabbing her forearms to keep her on the bed with him, "We're just talking, okay? Stay with me."

He watches the hint of panic slowly leave her eyes and she settles next to him again, letting him take her hand.

"Old habits, sorry," she murmurs after a moment.

"Don't apologize," he says, tipping her chin up with his finger so that she's looking at him, "We're working on it, right?"

"Right," she replies, giving him a tiny smile.

Liv slides down onto the bed, tucking herself into his arms, hiding her face in his neck. He lets her hide, knowing that being this openly emotional doesn't come easily to her, and what he's asking her to talk about is more than difficult.

"I don't blame you, I blame myself," she admits quietly after a moment.

Whatever he'd been expecting her to say it certainly wasn't that.

"What? _Why?_ " he asks incredulously.

"Because it was my fault," she laments, her voice catching, "I feel so guilty that they were able to use me to manipulate you."

 _I wish I'd never laid eyes on him_

"Liv—"

"I had to sit there, in that cell, and watch you declare a war that I knew you didn't believe in, because of me. _I know you_. I could tell how much you were hurting, I could see it in your posture. I saw you trying to keep your hands from shaking. I could see it in your eyes, I could see how exhausted and scared you were, I could tell you were barely keeping it together, because of _me_. They threw it in my face over and over again, they called you a puppet, they celebrated it. I love you so much, and you were suffering because of me, because of _us_. I couldn't take it, I felt so… _helpless_ , and I just—all of those soldiers—"

She breaks off to breathe for a second. His arms tighten around her and she presses closer to him, letting him hold her together. Years ago, she had given him permission to pull her CIA debriefing and watch it, so that he could better understand what had happened to her. He knows the nightmarish highlights, that she was zipped into a body bag with her deceased neighbor, that a man was shot inches from her face, that she'd been splattered with his blood. She looks understandably shaken in the video, but she's composed overall, and her eyes are void of emotion. She's never talked to him about the details of those weeks, about what sounds like psychological torture she'd endured. It's making him feel a little nauseous.

"I asked to die, that day. You'd given them what they wanted and they weren't letting me go. I really felt like it was over," she confesses, her voice small and quiet.

She feels his sharp inhale more than she hears it. She realizes she's answering questions that he hasn't asked yet, but the floodgates have opened and she can't seem to close them.

"I really thought that was the end for me, and I wanted—they were telling me they were going to use me for the rest of your presidency, they were going to keep threatening you. I couldn't let that happen, and so when I realized they didn't have orders to kill me right away, that's when I came up with the auction idea. _I exploited us—"_

"To save your own _life_ ," he interrupts, not able to listen to her blame herself anymore.

He sits up, pulling her with him.

"Look at me," he whispers fiercely, waiting until her eyes meet his.

"Being taken and held against your will, being psychologically tortured, none of that was your fault, do you hear me?"

Her face crumples and she lets a sob escape, bringing her fingertips to her forehead.

"And you're right, I was hurting, and I was scared, but you didn't do that to me, _they_ did. Those people exploited us, not you. You saved us."

Liv leans forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder for a moment, pulling herself back together. His hands rub soothingly over her back, and he presses his lips to her temple. Suddenly, he understands.

"When you threw the ring at me that night…"

"I was so angry," she says softly, "But I didn't even know who I was angry with. I was angry with you for giving in to their demands, I was angry with both of us for loving each other so _fucking_ much, which sounds so ridiculous to say out loud. I was angry with myself because deep down, I knew I would have done exactly what you did."

She stops, finally letting herself stand in the truth of the situation.

 _What am I supposed to do? If you're dead, how am I supposed to—_

"I would have done the same thing, because I can't lose you either. You make me feel so out of control sometimes, and I hate it. And don't take that as—I love you, _I love you_ , don't ever question that, but I don't always know how to handle that out of control feeling. The way you love me…it terrifies me sometimes. I've never loved anyone the way I love you, I've never been loved like this and—I—l"

"I know, I know," Fitz interrupts, because she's starting to sound a little breathless, "Do you think I don't feel that too? I feel it every time I look at you. I feel it right now, I've felt it every second since the moment I laid eyes on you. You're not alone in that, _I get it_."

Olivia nods, taking a deep breath. She nudges him to lay back down and he pulls her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. He waits for her breathing to even out before he speaks again.

"Thank you, for telling me all of that," he murmurs.

"It feels…good, actually, to let it out," she answers, her voice soft and calm now.

"Liv, I want—I want you to think about talking to someone," he says carefully, seizing the opportunity.

She tenses a little bit in his arms and he rushes to continue.

"Just think about it. Not for me, for you. You can tell me anything, I'm here, but…I'm too close to really help you unpack _everything_. I can't help you do that the way it, maybe, really needs to be done. And there might be things that you don't want to tell me, and that's okay too, but if you had someone to talk to—will you just consider it? Please?"

She's quiet for a long time, letting his request sink in.

"I'll think about it," she whispers, finally.

* * *

The next morning, Fitz wakes up alone and he's not happy about it.

He's not happy about it until the smell of bacon hits his nose, and then he's stretching out on the bed, grinning at the knowledge that she's down in his kitchen making breakfast. Rolling out of bed and pulling on a pair of flannel pajama pants he pads down the stairs in search of Olivia.

He finds her at the stove, where she's turned the center griddle on to start making pancakes. She looks up when he comes in, her eyes soft and happy.

"Hi," he greets her, rounding the island to pull her into his arms.

" _Hi._ "

She's wearing his oldest navy sweatshirt and nothing else, and it dwarfs her petite torso, stopping mid-thigh. He loves her in his clothes, especially first thing in the morning. They kiss softly for a few seconds before she pulls away to flip the pancakes.

"You didn't have to make breakfast," he says, snagging a piece of crisp bacon from the plate she's prepared and settling onto a stool.

"You've made me breakfast every morning that I've been here, I wanted to return the favor," she replies cutely, pulling the pancakes off the griddle and pouring two more.

He seizes the opportunity and crosses over to her again, palming her hips and pinning her back against the counter.

"Fitz, I don't want to burn them," she protests, half-heartedly.

"They won't burn," he mumbles, nuzzling his face into her neck.

Ten minutes later, the pancakes are burnt and she banishes him to the other side of the island until she's finished cooking.

"So, have you made pancakes before?" he teases, poking at one of the finished cakes suspiciously.

"Stop it," she reprimands, laughing and elbowing him playfully, "I happen to make excellent pancakes."

They banter until she's used up all the batter, and he fixes them one big plate, pulling her into his lap at the table. They share a fork, and they're being _ridiculous_ , but they just can't be separated from one another yet.

This time, he loads the dishwasher and sends her upstairs to get a fire started in the woodstove. When he joins her a few minutes later she's standing in front of the wall of windows, staring out at the mountains, the woodstove still cold.

Fitz towers over her from behind, enveloping her in his arms. His warm hands slide over her hips, fingertips slipping underneath the bottom of the sweatshirt to rest low on her belly, cupping a breast with his other hand and squeezing gently. She sighs quietly when his mouth lands on her neck, slowly kissing up to her pulse point and back toward her ear, the spot he knows is her favorite. Her weight rests against him and she gives herself over to it, tipping her head back and covering his hands with hers. He draws the sensitive patch of skin behind her ear into his mouth, sucking deeply, and it makes her gasp, makes her wet.

 _Oh_ , she wants him again.

Liv turns around and cups his face in her hands, pulling him down into a languid kiss, winding her tongue around his. He tastes like coffee and maple syrup, and he groans softly when she snakes her hand inside his pants, wrapping it around his growing erection and stroking him lightly.

"Wanna go back to bed?" he rumbles when they break apart, his voice so low she can feel the vibrations in her chest.

"Mmm-hmm," she hums, nodding and pressing her hips against his, biting at his bottom lip.

Slipping his hands under her thighs he lifts her easily, picking her up and carrying her in the bedroom. He drops her onto the mattress and she bounces a little, giggling and pulling him onto the bed. Kneeling between her thighs, he goes straight for the bottom of her sweatshirt and pushes it over her head, dragging his palms over her breasts in the process. He doesn't waste any time peeling her silky gray thong down and off, tossing it over the side of the bed. She settles back against the pillows and he draws back to look at her, kicking his pants off.

His hands caress her thighs as his heated gaze traces the entire length of her body, from top to bottom. He's just looking at her, he hasn't even touched her yet, and she's already having trouble breathing. She recognizes the predatory look in his eyes as his lips part, and she can see him cataloguing all of the places he wants to put his mouth, every patch of skin he wants to trace with his tongue. His eyes linger on the delicate slope of her neck and travel down, pausing on the soft curves of her breasts.

Her nipples tighten as she watches his gaze travel lower, over her ribs, over the flat plane of her stomach, over the dip of her hips. He lands at the apex of her thighs and pauses again, still stroking her thighs, causing a deep ache to run through her core and up into her belly. Her hips shift restlessly against the bed, and by the time his eyes sweep back up to meet hers her body is flushed, her breathing labored. Last night had been about reconnecting, about being close, being emotional, baring their souls to one another.

Now, he's looking at her like he wants to _devour_ her.

The dominant side of him has been simmering beneath the surface all morning. She felt it in his body, in the way his hands mapped the curve of her hips, the way he held her against him. She's dominant in every other part of her life, but with Fitz, she's safe. She can relinquish control to him and just _let go_ , just _be_ , just _feel_. It's such an innate part of their physical relationship, and it comes so naturally to them. He wants to take control, and she's going to let him. It's been so long, and she's desperately ready to submit to him.

"Want to taste you," he murmurs, bending to ghost his mouth over hers, "You didn't let me last night, I wanted to put my mouth on you so badly."

She can't do anything but whimper as his hands run over her body, starting innocently against her stomach and sweeping up to cup her breasts. His palms are warm and gentle, but already her senses are heightened and every touch is amplified.

"Can I, Livvie? I can't wait anymore," he teases softly, pulling just out of reach when she tries to kiss him.

"Then why are you waiting," she breathes, arching her back and moaning against his lips when his thumb teasingly circles her clit.

"So sassy," Fitz rumbles playfully, pulling her thighs around his waist, fingers tickling the backs of her knees.

Instead of moving down her body he drops his hips, nestling his cock into her folds so that it puts direct pressure against her clit. Liv's hands tangle in his hair and he spends several minutes assaulting her neck with his lips and tongue, slowly rocking against her, nipping with his teeth.

"Fitz, please," she whimpers, thrusting her hips up.

He pulls the pressure away from her center and swallows her groan of frustration as they kiss, stroking his tongue into her mouth. It makes him swell because that's exactly how he wants her, he wants her desperate, he wants her begging. She makes a sound that's half pleasure and half relief when he finally trails hot, open-mouthed kisses over her breasts, rubbing his lips against the sensitive flesh. Her hands wander over his biceps, his shoulders, kneading the muscles there and running her fingertips over the smooth, warm skin. She's so wet that he feels it against his chest when her hips flex up, and he has to grind his own hips down into the bed to try and relieve some of the throbbing ache.

" _Ungh_ , feels so good, I'm so wet for you," she whispers, sighing raggedly as he sucks her left nipple into his mouth.

It's like she can read his mind, like she knows exactly what to say to drive him crazy. He bites her, making her roll against him and cry out. His thumbs rub circles against her nipples as he drags his chin down her stomach, pressing kisses beneath her belly button. He blows cool air over her low belly, sucking the soft skin into his mouth. Liv looks down at him, cupping his face, rubbing her palms over his stubble.

"The first day I was here, I caught myself thinking about what _this_ , would feel like _here_ ," she murmurs, slipping her fingertips over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

He doesn't waste any time, immediately kissing a trail up towards her knee and nuzzling his face against her skin on the way back down, keeping his eyes on hers. The sensation has her breathless again.

"What does it feel like?" he rasps, moving to her other thigh, biting gently at her hip crease.

"It feels like… _oh…don't stop_ …"

She can't keep her eyes open anymore and they drift closed. He scrapes and mouths over her thighs until her skin is tingling and her hips are straining up toward him. Finally, _finally_ , his mouth is hovering over her wet, heated skin, and his hands wrap underneath her hips to yank her closer. He hums in satisfaction, and the first glide of his tongue is long and firm. The breath rushes out of her and a strangled moan escapes her throat, the muscles of her stomach contracting.

He brings her to her first orgasm quickly on purpose. He sucks wet, swirling, French kisses against her and knocks her over the edge before she can even fully absorb the onslaught of sensation. She's loud when she comes, groaning and crying out in pleasure, digging her short nails into the back of his neck.

He waits until the last spasms leave her body, until she's looking down at him with hooded eyes, still panting softly. Maintaining their eye contact he starts to kiss across the top of her pubic bone, making it clear he intends to coax another orgasm from her. Now that she's come once already he takes his time, sucking at her folds, teasing her clit, rubbing her opening with his fingertips. She moans as he drags two fingers inside her, curling them up to massage her G-spot until her hips are twisting. Drawing her clit into his mouth he sucks deeply until she starts to pull his hair, and then just before she comes, he stops.

Liv looks down to find him giving her a wicked smile and she laughs breathlessly, realizing what he plans on doing. He knows her body so well, he knows exactly how to hold her climax just out of reach, and sometimes he uses it to his advantage. He rubs his jaw against her thighs, sinking his teeth into her skin, slowly kissing his way back to her center. Her hips jerk when he lightly scrapes his teeth over her clit, entering her with two fingers again, his other hand gliding up her body to pinch her right nipple.

He brings her to the edge two more times, only to stop right before she can orgasm. She's getting increasingly restless, mewling and panting, clutching at the sheets, writhing against his lips and fingers. His mouth feels indescribably good, and it's bordering on too much, yet she can't get enough. He's trapped her in the most torturous place, and it's the sweetest kind of pleasure. He winds her up a fourth time and finds her edge.

"Fitz, I can't, _I can't_ ," she sobs after he stops again, moaning, reaching down for him with shaky hands.

"Shh, you can," he soothes, giving her his left hand and lacing their fingers together, "Mmm, one more time, Livvie."

Her hips buck up against him when his lips touch her clit again, and he returns their joined hands to her belly, holding her still. She quivers around his fingers as he delicately skims her swollen clit with his tongue, pulling away again at the first clench of her muscles, still holding her _right there_. He gazes up her body, over her softly heaving breasts, the arch of her neck where her head is thrown back as she whimpers uncontrollably.

He sucks her clit into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and she starts to come. She's completely silent at first, holding her breath, her mouth open, brows furrowed. All of her muscles tense for a few seconds, and then she falls into it, shaking and keening loudly. Her free hand delves into his hair as she pants and moans her way through the orgasm, her belly cramping, her walls contracting rhythmically around his fingers.

" _Oh my god, Fitz, oh…_ "

Watching her come is the most arousing thing he's ever seen, and it always makes him hard like nothing else. His cock is throbbing uncomfortably against the bed, and he can feel a wet spot on the comforter where he's been leaking precum. Pressing his thumb against her firmly and curling his fingers, he massages her clit and her G-spot at the same time, until her hips are jerking with every movement and she's gasping with oversensitivity. He eases his fingers from her as she pulls him up her body, immediately wrapping herself around him.

"Right here, just like this, _please_ ," she pants, and he's already lining himself up, pressing all the way inside her with one thrust.

" _Ungh, Livvie…_ "

Time slows down as she angles her face up to kiss him. He groans into her mouth as her tongue sweeps past his lips, moving in long strokes over his, tasting herself in every corner. His thrusts are already frantic as they kiss, he's so close. She's so wet, so hot around him, and he's so wound up from teasing her that he can't hold back. A dozen or so thrusts and he comes with a shout, dropping his forehead to her shoulder and grunting through his climax.

Liv strokes her hands up and down his back, teasing his ear with her tongue while he sucks kisses against her neck. He slips out of her and rolls them over, skating his fingertips over her ass. She settles her limbs on either side of his body, laying flat on his chest, finally finding stillness. They're both panting a little bit, trying to get their breath back. And then they're _laughing_ , because it's _so good_ , and they have no idea how they ever lived without each other.

She's still giggling as she crawls up his body, nuzzling her face into his damp chest, kissing over his pecks. When her face is level with his, she props herself up and tangles her fingers in his hair.

"So good, baby," she breathes, pressing soft, quick kisses against his lips.

"So good," he agrees breathlessly, grinning against her mouth.


	8. Chapter 7

"Sometime this century, Livvie," he yells up the stairs.

He's not at all impatient, actually. He just loves indulging the domestic fantasy of nagging her about taking so long to get ready.

"I'd shut it, if I were you, mister," she yells back, "Unless you want to be impaled by a stiletto, in which case I'll need another ten minutes to decide which pair to stab you with."

He laughs, hard. Leave it to Liv to shatter any and all domestic fantasies, although he wouldn't have it any other way.

They're going on a date tonight, a real date, on her last night in Colorado. No photographers, no secret service entourage, just an intimate dinner, and he couldn't be more excited. He hasn't given her any details about where they're going, just that its local, and she can dress up if she wants to. He's put on his favorite navy suit, the crisp white shirt collar underneath left unbuttoned, sans tie.

Finally, he hears the _click click_ of her heels on the hardwood. Creamy, toasted almond-colored pumps appear first as she smoothly comes down the stairs.

As always, she takes his breath away.

Her dress is made of soft, satin material the color of the richest Merlot. It's tailored perfectly to hug her soft curves, with a scoop neckline that sits just below her collarbones. The long sleeves stop just so around the delicate bones of her wrists, the bottom fitted and flared right below her knees. She's styled her hair into the tousled waves he loves so much and her makeup is soft and natural, her skin glowing and dewy. Fitz can't help but stare at her, swallowing audibly, because she's so effortlessly sexy, so devastatingly gorgeous. As he holds her coat out for her to slip into he's secretly glad she isn't showing more skin, he's not sure he'd make it through dinner otherwise.

And then she turns around, and his mouth goes dry.

The dress is completely backless. The material stops just around the curves of her shoulders, skimming down her sides into a tantalizing dip, dangerously low at the small of her back.

Olivia hears his sharp intake of breath and smiles to herself. Late one night several months ago, unable to sleep, she had come across the dress on the DVF website and ordered it immediately. She had no occasion to wear it at the time, she'd just seen it and fallen in love with it, knew she had to have it. It hung toward the back of her closet, tailored and pressed, until she started to pack for her trip to Colorado. She had packed and un-packed it three separate times before finally deciding to bring it. After all, she thought, what self-respecting woman goes to visit her ex and doesn't pack a killer dress, _just in case_?

Pulling the coat over her shoulders, she flips her hair out of the collar and turns around to face him. He's looking at her with a mixture of lust and love, his eyes warm and dark.

She is every hope, every fantasy, every wet dream, every wish he's ever had rolled into one woman, and he still can't believe she's his.

"You look—I—you're—"

She blushes at his stammering, leaning up to press a soft kiss against his mouth.

"Thank you," she murmurs, brushing her nose against his neck, "Mmm, you smell good."

His hands rest at her waist while she pulls the edges of his coat together, fastening the buttons, smoothing his lapels.

"Ready to go?"

* * *

Ben does a double take when he sees them come out of the house together. They're both laughing as President Grant ushers Ms. Pope out onto the porch with a hand at her lower back, turning to lock the door behind them. They pause for a moment as Ms. Pope eyes the slippery, snow-packed driveway, clearly having made a miscalculation in her choice of footwear. The President comes to stand beside her, and Ben watches as he says something that makes her roll her eyes playfully, her hands going to her hips.

He glances down to put the car in drive, thinking he'll pull up and solve their problem, but before he can he hears a shriek followed by more laughter. When he looks up again President Grant has scooped her up, bridal-style, and is carrying her effortlessly down the driveway. He keeps his eyes on them until Ms. Pope wraps her arms around the President's neck, nuzzling her lips intimately against his ear, at which point Ben looks away abruptly, suspicions confirmed.

Ben's powers of observation, skills that are finely tuned as a secret service agent, make him acutely aware of any changes in the people he's protecting, especially if he's protected them for extended periods of time. He's been off duty since dropping Ms. Pope off from the airport five days ago, and clearly some changes have occurred since then. Immediately he's able to discern that their body language is completely different than it was earlier in the week.

They're almost certainly involved romantically once again, and in fact, they're more relaxed than he's ever seen them. He can't help but feel happy for them, he'd always secretly hated that their relationship had ended. He knows he's supposed to observe the environment, to be vigilant, to protect, but sometimes eavesdropping is inevitable. From what he's observed, they're good for each other. Whether they realize it or not, they compliment one another in all the ways that matter. They just fit.

Trying not to smile too widely, Ben climbs out of the car just as they approach it.

"Hey Ben! Mind getting the door so I can put the lady down?" President Grant asks, groaning and pretending to stumble as if she weighs a few hundred pounds.

"Oh my god, stop it," Ms. Pope scoffs, swatting at his shoulder, turning to Ben with a smile, "Hi, Ben."

"Evening ma'am, Mr. President," Ben greets, opening the back door, trying not to look as if he's been watching them.

* * *

Fitz adds another log to the fire pit on the balcony, re-kindling the blaze he's created. He settles back into the Adirondack chair and rests his elbows on his knees, his long exhale creating a puff of water vapor in the frigid night air, despite the halo of warmth created by the fire. Dolly and James are settled onto uncovered lounge cushions, curled up together and lulled into sleepiness by the heat of the flames.

He needed some air.

They'd come back from dinner and made love again. After sitting beside her in that dress all evening in the dim, intimate restaurant, he was more than ready to have her again. She knew exactly what she was doing to him too, leaning back into his wandering fingers when they spread over her bare back, dipping into the sides of her dress and grazing the top of her perfect behind. Looking up at him through dark lashes, flirting shamelessly over the top of her wine glass, _jesus_ , she drove him insane. But somewhere around 3am, lying in bed with Olivia sleeping in his arms, looking down at the face that's haunted his dreams for the past ten years, everything seemed to hit him all at once. The force of his love for her squeezed painfully around his ribcage and suddenly he couldn't breathe.

It all flashes through his mind in rapid succession as he stares into the flames; Screaming at each other, holding her while she sobbed, the talking, _oh the talking finally_ , cooking together, watching her come apart beneath him, panting into her neck as she cradled his body against her, her laugh, her skin, her smile. The whirlwind of the past few days, the all-consuming, breathless joy of having her back has settled down inside his chest, and he's left with reality pressing on him.

They'd barely looked into the depths, barely checked the temperature of the water, they just dove in together, and it's making him a little panicked. He's seized by the sudden, overwhelming realization that he's _in this_ with her again, just like that. It's too late now, she already has his whole heart tucked between her palms, and there's absolutely nothing he can do about that. They fall into each other so fast, always so fast, it's so easy to get lost in her, to give himself to her in every way. He always forgets to step back and evaluate, to think about whether he feels like he's getting all of her in return, to think about whether he feels like he's getting what he needs to feel secure with her, with _them_. She's been so careless with his heart in the past, and when he's distracted by the elation of being with her again it's easy for him to push those thoughts away. The truth is, she's left him, over and over again, and it's nearly killed him every time.

The sound of the French doors opening pulls him from his thoughts. He turns around to see Liv pushing the doors closed, making her way over to him, stepping inside the footprints he's made through the snow on the balcony. She's pulled her ski pants, boots, and parka on over her pajamas, and she tugs her hat down more securely over her ears as she grabs a second Adirondack from the stack he's already uncovered. Plopping the chair down into the snow next to his, he watches as she slides down onto it and leans forward, holding her hands out to the heat of the fire. Dolly gets up and pads over to her immediately, nudging her head up underneath Liv's hands.

"Hi, sweet girl," she murmurs, smiling and stroking over the dog's head and behind her ears.

"Sorry if I woke you," he says gruffly, his voice still raspy with sleep.

"You didn't," she replies, glancing over at him with a soft smile, "The bed got cold, I just wondered where you went."

There's something in his posture, something in his expression that makes her stop after that. The flickering light illuminates the masculine edges of his face as he stares into the fire, seemingly lost in thought. She can see how serious his mood is in the set of his lips, his brow, the way he's holding his shoulders, and it makes a twinge of anxiety flare in her stomach. She gives Dolly one final scratch and settles back into her chair, tipping her eyes up to look at the stars, glancing over at him every now and then.

"Can I ask what you're thinking about?" she asks softly after a few minutes, repeating his own careful words back to him.

His eyes soften a little at that. He sighs deeply, sliding back in his chair so that he's even with her.

"I'm thinking...that I feel a little overwhelmed by the past few days," he confesses, deciding brutal honesty is the best way to go.

"Okay," she says quietly, nodding her head slightly.

When he doesn't continue she prompts him gently.

"What else?" she breathes, managing to sound calm even though her eyes reveal how difficult this still is for her, having the tough conversations.

His eyes trace over her face for a moment before he starts talking.

"I'm…I'm really scared of us, right now. I've been sitting here thinking about you, and us, and everything we've been through, everything you've put me through. I'm thinking that I want this to work, I want this and I want you more than anything, but I'm so tired of getting hurt, Liv. Being hurt by you is a thousand times worse than being hurt by anyone else and I don't know if I can do it again."

Her breath hitches when she realizes where his head is, where this is going, but she forces herself to listen. He deserves to be able to tell her what's on his heart.

"I'm so scared that as soon as you leave here, as soon as we're out of this little bubble and back in the real world, you're going to run like you always do. You're going to find an excuse to leave me, just like you always do. You're telling me that you're in this, and I feel that, I do. But I also feel like...I've felt that before, and then I realize that you're still holding me at arms length," he says, his voice gentle, but serious and clipped.

"And I don't want to feel that anymore, I won't settle for that. It hurts too much. Every time you leave, I sit there and ask myself, _why aren't I enough for her? Why doesn't she want me the way that I want her? Why can't I give her what she needs?_ I know I said that I would do this over and over until we get it right, but…don't hurt me again, Liv, please—"

The look on his face is breaking her heart and he's too far away. She stands up, relieved when he lets her sit sideways on his thighs, sliding his arms around her waist.

"I am so sorry," she whispers, cradling his face with her left hand, her eyes wide and filled with tears, "I'm so sorry that I ever made you feel like you weren't enough, like you were less. You _are_ enough, you've always been _more_ than enough for me."

Hearing those words from her starts to soothe something inside him, a wound that's been aching and burning for as long as he can remember. A wound inflicted by a father who never approved, deepened by a wife who rejected him, and inadvertently aggravated by the love of his life. He leans into her palm and closes his eyes, letting the words wash over him. His reaction is noticeable and profound, so she repeats herself softly, with conviction.

" _You are enough, Fitz_."

On some level, she's always known that she'd hurt him by leaving, regardless of what her motivation had been. She hadn't been blind to the pain in his eyes, or the fierce way he clung to her whenever she returned. But hearing him say it, hearing him doubt himself, and blame himself, and beg her not to hurt him anymore, it hits home for her how reckless she's been. She feels the full weight of what she's done for the first time, and it gives her astonishing clarity. He's not being needy, he's just asking her not to blindside him anymore. He's telling her he doesn't want to start relying on her as his partner again, only to have her abandon him 'for his own good'.

He opens his eyes, pulling her hand from his face and pressing a kiss against her fingers.

"I—I always used to think you'd be better off without me, without the complication of our relationship. Even though it hurt, every time I left, I thought I was helping you—"

"Well, you've had an unfortunate habit of thinking you know what's best for me in a lot of different situations. I'm a grown man, Olivia."

"I know that," she winces, his comment stinging a little bit, "My leaving was always more about me than it was about you. I was scared—"

"What were you so scared of?"

"I don't know…you? Us? Finally letting someone love me the way you do? Especially after the second election…" She trails off, not wanting to bring up those memories for him if he's not in the right mindset.

He gets a faraway look in his eyes, staring past her, slowly shaking his head.

"I needed you, Liv."

"I know—"

"And you left. You just left. Why did you—did you even think about what you were doing?"

"Of course I did!" she whispers, fiercely, "Do you think it was easy for me to pick up and leave everything behind? I just…I felt like I had to do it. After everything? The weight of it all? I felt like leaving was my only option. I guess I just thought…you had so many people around you, Cyrus, and Mellie, if you needed someone to lean on you would find someone else."

"How could you think that?" he breathes, "I didn't just need someone, I needed _you_. I wanted _you_. You're not some kind of placeholder, Liv, you've never been that. You know that by now, don't you?"

As soon as he says it her face changes, her eyes vulnerable and scared, like he's just uncovered a weak spot that she didn't even know was there. She looks away after a moment, at a loss for words, and his mouth drops open.

"You don't, do you?" he realizes, murmuring incredulously, "Liv—"

"I'm trying," she interrupts, smiling tightly and nodding her head, "I'm trying to believe you when you tell me things like that. It's just—"

She doesn't have the words again, and he's not sure he has any words for her either. Her insecurity runs deeper than he realized, and he wishes more than anything he had the power to unburden her, but he doesn't. Only she can do that.

"It's hard for you," he finishes for her, rubbing his hand soothingly over her thigh.

He watches the cloud of her breath as she exhales, nodding. They're quiet for a little while, absorbing everything that's been said. It's completely silent, aside from the pleasant crackle and pop of the fire, and it feels like they're the only two people awake for miles and miles. Fitz slides his hand up her back to play with the ends of her hair, smiling gently at her when she looks up and meets his eyes.

"After the election, I thought leaving was the right decision, but it wasn't. I was running again," she breathes softly, squeezing his other hand where it rests against her leg, "Making those decisions to end things, I was making unilateral decisions for both of us and that was selfish. I can see that now, and I'm sorry. And…I can't promise you that I won't make mistakes, or that I won't get scared this time. But I can promise that I won't run from you anymore. I'm done running."

Fitz eyes her carefully, pulling in a long breathe through his nose.

"I want to believe you. I just…I need some time to trust you. I can't—you have to show me. Trust me enough to come to me if you get scared, or if you're having a hard time, _anything_ , so we can work through it together. I just want you to let me in, Liv, _really_ let me in."

He pulls her more securely into his lap, tucking her against his chest.

" _Show me who you are_ , I promise I won't ever make you regret it."

Liv nods her head, taking a deep breath. Her brow furrows and she struggles to express herself for a moment, trying to keep the words from getting stuck in her throat like they usually do.

" _I love you_ ," she says softly, resting her hand against his chest, making herself look right at him when she says it.

He returns the gesture with a signature crooked smile.

"I love you too."

She's close enough to kiss him now and she does, nuzzling her nose against his, connecting their lips in several long, indulgent presses. She starts to pull away and then thinks better of it, kissing him again because she can, because it feels good, because she loves him. His lips are cool but his tongue is warm when it slips past her lips, stroking into her mouth. Fitz hums softly when she cradles his face with two hands, sucking on his bottom lip, sliding her tongue over it. She eases their mouths apart with a few softer kisses, snuggling closer to him.

"Are you cold? We can go in," he offers quietly.

"No, let's stay a little while longer. Fire's nice," she murmurs.

She lays her head on his shoulder, looping both of her arms under his left one, which is wrapped around her waist.

"'Show me who you are', huh? Where'd you get that cheesy line?" she teases sleepily, smiling and pressing her cold nose against his neck.

He chuckles quietly.

"I dunno, this incredibly brilliant, kind, strong, beautiful, amazing woman used to say it to me, and it kind of stayed with me."

* * *

Waking up in bed with Fitz might be her favorite thing ever.

Cocooned in a pocket of warmth beneath the down comforter, she takes a deep breath, filling her nose with his familiar scent. He's spooned up behind her, his arm draped comfortably over her waist, his bare chest pressed against her back. She's so relaxed she's not sure she'll ever be able to move again, and she sighs contentedly as he starts to wake up behind her, hugging her closer. His erection stirs against her lower back, and she's in sync with him immediately, arousal pooling between her thighs.

She can tell he's just barely awake, but already his open palm is sliding beneath her tee shirt ( _his_ tee shirt), spanning her belly to press her hips back. She turns a little bit and brings their lips together with a hand in his hair, her breath catching as his fingers trace lazy circles low on her belly. She gently thrusts her tongue into his mouth, moaning quietly as his hand slides up to cup a breast, his thumb brushing light, teasing circles over her nipple. He's hard within minutes, their hips instinctually starting to rock together.

It's always like this after they've been apart, they're always insatiable. One look, one whiff of her perfume, one wisp of his breath against her neck and they're aching, throbbing, desperate to be closer.

"Take this off," Fitz rasps quietly, pulling at her shirt.

As soon as it's gone his hands are everywhere, slowly stroking over every inch of smooth, soft skin he can reach. Her ass is writhing against his erection as he slides his top hand over the length of her body, his other hand sneaking underneath to gently pinch her nipples. She curls in on herself slightly as he squeezes her against him again, nuzzling her ear.

"God, I want you," he breathes, making her gasp when his tongue traces the hypersensitive skin at the back of her neck.

Biting her lip, she reaches back and wraps her hand around his erection, making his hips jump. She jerks him slowly, firmly, his warm exhales at the nape of her neck making her whole body tingle.

Panties and boxers are peeled down and kicked to the bottom of the bed, and then he's lifting her thigh back over his, gliding the head of his cock through her wet folds, pressing inside her.

"More," Liv sighs, a soft guttural moan escaping when he adjusts his angle and presses deeper.

The sounds she's making go straight to his cock, and he growls low in his chest. He grinds his hips forward without pulling out, coaxing more of those low moans from her throat. She's maddeningly hot and slick around him as he starts to fuck into her properly, moaning into her neck.

" _Fuck_ , you feel amazing. Just— _oh_ , just like that," she groans, rolling her hips back against him.

Liv's usually more vocal in the morning, something about being fresh from sleep loosening her tongue. He _loves_ it, the breathy, undone quality of her voice incredibly erotic.

"Love it when you talk to me," he murmurs into her ear, "Tell me, pretty girl."

Liv hums, craning her neck back for a kiss.

"So good like this, you feel so big, _ungh_ ," she whines, encouraging him, driving him higher.

A few quick, hard thrusts have her moaning loudly, curling her arm up to tug on his curls.

" _Yes_ , baby, _oh_ , right there."

She arches her back, rubbing her face against the pillows, squirming in pleasure, grinding her hips back hard to give herself more pressure. He shifts a little bit so that he's hitting her g-spot with every thrust and she cries out, her breath coming in harsh pants.

"Baby, I'm gonna come," she whimpers, dragging his hand away from her hip and down between her thighs, gasping when his fingers start to massage her clit.

"Yes, wanna feel you, _fuck_ ," he whispers, cursing as the first flutters of her orgasm squeeze around him.

"I'm com— _oh my god, Fitz_ …"

Her climax is long and intense, her body convulsing and writhing in his arms. She sobs and moans as her muscles contract rhythmically around his cock, and the sensation pushes him closer and closer to his own finish.

" _Baby_ ," she whines, covering his hand where he's still rubbing against her clit, pressing harder with her own fingers.

Pulling their hands away, she presses his hand against the bed and laces their fingers together, rolling them forward until she's halfway on her stomach.

"Fuck me," she murmurs breathlessly, sliding her top leg up toward her chest to give him more space, "C'mon baby, _yesss_."

She hisses when he digs a knee into the mattress and lets his hips snap forward, dropping his forehead against her shoulder.

"That's it, let go for me."

" _Liv_ , _fuck_ —"

He plunges into her over and over, letting himself lose control a little bit. He hasn't fucked her like this in _so long_ , she feels so good, and she's making those sexy, deep, moaning noises again. He can't stop groaning, tasting the soft skin of her shoulder, and he needs to come, badly. Her hand reaches back, nails digging into his ass, and he grips her hip, grunting into her shoulder.

" _Let go baby, c'mon_ ," she encourages, and her voice pushes him over the edge.

The intensity of his orgasm takes him by surprise as he comes in long, warm spurts, burying himself inside her. It takes him a few minutes to come down but she's there with him, rocking her hips back, finding his hand and lacing their fingers together again. Hooking his chin over her shoulder, he presses tender kisses against her cheek, nuzzling her ear to make her shiver. He eases himself out of her, pulling her onto her back with him where she throws an arm over her eyes, still trying to catch her breath. Eventually her eyes drift open and she turns her head, meeting his gaze.

"Good morning," he grins.

"Good morning," she giggles, stretching lazily.

"That was _hot._ I needed that."

"Mmm, me too. C'mere."

Liv turns onto her side, cupping his jaw. She pulls him into a series of soft kisses, stroking her tongue into his mouth, biting at his lips.

"That position feels incredible but I don't get to kiss you," she murmurs between kisses, sighing when his tongue slips over hers.

He shifts and his soft cock lands on her thigh, still slick with their fluids. She wrinkles her nose playfully at him, turning over and reaching for the tissues on her nightstand, grabbing a handful for herself as well. As they clean up, she eyes the nightstand curiously. She hasn't noticed until just now, but his alarm clock, the tissues, his phone charger, the novel he's reading, they're all on what has traditionally been _her_ side of the bed.

"Have you been sleeping on the wrong side of the bed or something?" she jokes, "Why is all your stuff over here?"

He doesn't answer right away, and when she looks over at him he looks embarrassed all of a sudden. Realization dawns on her and she's instantly and intensely curious.

It's a small thing, but it had been one of the only petty fights they'd had. As soon as they finally started sharing a bed on a regular basis, they discovered they both preferred the same side. It started out innocently enough, with one of them going to bed earlier than the other and stealing their preferred side, or sneakily rolling over to _that_ side after sex while the other one finished up in the bathroom. Innocent turned into annoying, which quickly turned into infuriating. Ridiculous as it may have been, they're both creatures of habit, they both have their preferences, and they're both stubborn. After a couple weeks of passive aggression he'd lost it.

" _Olivia, if there's one thing I can count on in this life it's my side of the bed. Can you fucking let me have this one?"_

And she did. She made the compromise and let him have his side. So, after all that, she can't imagine that he's broken a lifelong habit after fifty-some years.

"Why have you been sleeping over here?" she asks softly.

He sighs, looking sheepish.

"I slept in the middle at first. There was just too much empty space, you know, without you there. And then eventually…I don't know, somehow it didn't feel like you were gone if I slept on your side. My side wasn't empty, I just wasn't over there, it wasn't the same thing—its stupid."

"It's not stupid," she murmurs, sweeping her hand soothingly through his mussed curls.

She slides down onto the bed and pulls him into her arms, nudging his head onto her shoulder and stroking her fingers through his hair the way she knows he loves.

"Scotch," she admits softly, after a minute.

"What?" he asks, having been almost asleep again, her fingers sliding through his hair lulling him into a nap.

"Scotch. I only drank scotch, no wine, for almost a year after we broke up."

He realizes she's sharing a little piece of her pain with him, letting him know he wasn't alone, that it was hard for her too.

"It helped, a little, but it was never the same. I couldn't taste it on you anymore, so…it didn't taste the same," she sighs.

He tips his head back so he can see her, and they share a knowing smile. Sliding up slightly, he props his head up and cups her cheek, stroking her cheekbone.

"You're leaving today," he says quietly, slipping his hand down to her neck, his thumb stroking her jawline.

"I know," she mumbles, her eyes casting downward.

She's deliberately avoided bringing it up or even thinking about it too much, because it knots her stomach uncomfortably and she suspects he feels the same way. Last night, though, an idea had started forming in her mind, a plan, and it might be a little crazy but so are they. She can't leave him now, she just _can't_. He wants to ask her to stay, she can see it in his face, but she knows that he won't. Not this time. This time it has to come from her.

"I—um," she starts and stumbles a bit, clearing her throat, "You're flying in on Monday, right? To D.C.?"

"Yeah, I have a dinner with a bunch of donors for Gerry's foundation. Shrimp cocktail, tiny portions of expensive food, you know, the usual," he grumbles, flipping onto his back.

"I was thinking…what if I just fly back with you?" she suggests, finally, leaning on his chest.

His eyes widen in surprise for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he's understood her correctly.

"Fly back with me as in—"

"I don't want to leave yet," she whispers, kissing him quickly once, twice, "I just got you back, I don't want to leave you. There are things we haven't figured out yet, and I just—I need more time, _we_ need more time."

"Stay," he breathes, "Stay, and we'll keep talking, and not talking—"

She's already working on the 'not talking' part, kissing him right in the middle of his sentence, climbing over him to straddle his hips.

"I'll call the airline," she mumbles, kissing her way down his neck, "And you call the foundation and tell them to add one more place setting at that dinner."

He hauls her back up to meet his eyes, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

" _Really_? Liv, are you sure?"

"Sure," she smirks, "You know I'm allergic to shrimp, if I give you my shrimp cocktail plus your tiny portions of expensive food you'll almost have a whole meal."

She starts to nuzzle his ear but he nudges her face away.

" _Liv_."

His face is serious, questioning.

"I'm _sure_ ," she repeats, her expression sober, her eyes reassuring.

Slowly, his face relaxes into a smile and he pulls her back down, kissing her sensually. Her hips start a slow rock against his.

"Mmm, I wanna—"

She gets cut off when he abruptly rolls out from beneath her, getting out of bed.

"Hey! I didn't mean you needed to call right now! Your phone is right here, where are you going?" she calls, sitting up as he nearly sprints, naked, from the room.

His head pops back around the edge of the doorway.

"To get some scotch," he says, giving her a wicked smile.

Her eyes widen as he disappears and she flops back onto the bed, laughter bubbling out of her.

* * *

 **A/N: So, she's staying a few more days, yay! I just couldn't separate them yet, I didn't have the heart to do it. The story is in no way over, I think it has at least a few more chapters in it! I'm in the planning stages for where I want it to go next, I'll definitely be taking their relationship out into the world to see how they handle things. Many thanks to iwrite4olitz for helpful character discussion and beta-ing my color choices in this chapter ;-)**


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: As a reminder, we last left our favorite fixer and former POTUS in February of 2019...**

* * *

 **June 2019**

Fitz pours himself another three fingers of scotch and caps the bottle, putting it back in the pantry. He crosses over to the sliding door and pulls it all the way open, ensuring that the screen is secure, letting the cool night air flood the kitchen. Taking a long pull of his scotch, he cracks his neck and walks back toward the living room, trying to ignore the dull pounding in his head.

Five years. Sometimes it's felt like the longest five years of his life and other times he feels as if he's blinked and five years have gone by.

He tends to think of his life as the Before and the After; before he knew the unimaginable pain of losing a child and after, before he lost a piece of his heart and after, before he knew the deepest grief he'll ever know in his life and after. The feeling of losing a child isn't something that ever leaves you, it's something that you carry for the rest of your life. Grieving a child is a lifelong process. His grief over losing Gerry has evolved, the day-to-day aspect of it is different, but it's always there, just beneath the surface. At first it was completely all consuming, so unbelievable and surreal that he'd had no idea how to process it. Presidents don't have time to be bereaved, so he'd pushed it away until it started bursting out of him at inappropriate times, during meetings, press conferences. He'd had to _make_ time to grieve then, although he mostly drowned his pain with alcohol. Eventually, he'd been forced into grief counseling, along with his ex-wife, something that had ultimately been good for both of them. It had given him better coping tools, helped him understand what he was experiencing. Slowly, he'd started to find his new normal, the After.

Most days his grief is just another part of his soul, it's just something he wears on his heart, acknowledging it whenever it needs tending. But some days, some weeks, bring him right back to the beginning. He knows it's not the same for everyone, but for him, Gerry's birthday is the hardest, it's always been harder than the anniversary of his death. Remembering the day his son died is enough to bring him to his knees, but Gerry's birthday? His birthday is enough to keep him in bed for a week. His birthday is the most gut-wrenching reminder that he's no longer alive to turn a year older. It's a reminder of all the _what ifs_ , all the missed milestones, all of the things his son never got to do and all of the things he never got to witness as a father. His stomach is in knots for days prior, he's plagued with nightmares and sleepless nights, pangs of grief that make his chest tighten until he can't breathe, he dreads it every year. He tries to use the opportunity to celebrate Gerry's life, to conjure happy memories, but most days it feels impossible. He wavers between wanting to be alone and craving companionship, but mostly he leans toward solitude.

Truthfully, there's one person whose companionship he aches for more than anything, but she doesn't live here. Not yet, anyway. They've only been back together for four months and they've been taking it slow, taking their time in a way they never have before. It feels _real_ this time, like they're both treating their relationship with equal care and reverence, finally acknowledging that what they have is precious and rare. They're finally treating their partnership the way they should have from the very beginning, and it's been incredible.

Still, he hasn't asked her to come and be with him this week because, deep down, he's afraid she won't do it. Not because she doesn't love him, or she doesn't want to support him, but because his loss is a lot to absorb. It's a terrible, horrific, _awful_ thing to even try to wrap one's head around, and he knows she'll feel pressure if he asks her to come be with him. She needn't feel any pressure of course, all he really needs is to see her face, have her company, feel her in his arms, but most people just don't know what to say to someone who's grieving a child, and he doesn't expect Liv to be any different. He doesn't fault her for it, and in time they'll be ready to take steps like this but he's not going to push it, not yet.

His cell phone rings with their nightly call and instantly his spirits lift, the tightness in his chest easing a little bit.

"Hi, Livvie," he breathes, sinking down onto the couch.

"Hey, mister, what's going on out there?"

"Oh, the usual, wrangling terriers and losing the never-ending battle of keeping wildlife out of my garden. Are you in the car?"

" _Yes_ , finally. I'm on my way home, longest day ever," she complains.

"Tell me," he requests, letting her voice soothe him as she recounts a hectic situation at the office.

The line goes quiet for several seconds and he hears her sigh on the other end.

"How are you today, really?" she asks gently, well aware that Gerry's birthday is four days away.

"I'm—I've had better days," he sighs.

"Did you eat?"

"A little."

"Are you drinking?"

"I am. I put the bottle away though, two glass limit, promise."

"Good."

She exhales, and he can almost hear her thinking through the phone.

"Baby, do you want me to come out there?" she asks softly, hesitantly, "Because I will, say the word and I'm on a plane."

 _Yes, yes, yes, please come here, I need you_

"No, Liv, don't worry about me," he lies, "It's…it's a hard week, but I'm alright, really."

"Are you sure?"

"Hang on, secret service is knocking, I need to set the alarm," he mutters, heading to the main alarm panel at the front door, pulling the door open to let the agent know he's alarmed the property.

" _Hi_."

Fitz nearly drops his phone in shock.

Olivia is standing on the porch, looking at him with warm, serious eyes. She's the picture of a cool summer evening in strappy wedge sandals, soft coral linen pants and a white scalloped lace tank top, her hair swept to one side in a bun at the base of her neck. Crickets chirp quietly as they stare at each other, a light breeze ruffling her bangs as she tucks her phone into her bag. He doesn't think he's ever been so relieved to see anyone.

While he's still staring at her, jaw hanging open, she steps forward and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing one slow kiss against his mouth, carding her fingers through his hair. The dark circles beneath his eyes and the way his arms tighten around her waist confirm everything she'd already suspected, and she instantly knows that she made the right decision.

Breaking their kiss she leans her forehead against his for a moment, pulling back slightly to cradle his face between her hands.

"I told you, I'm done running," she murmurs, "If you need me, you _tell_ me, okay? You can call for me, I'll always come to you. _Always_."

His eyes burn with tears and he swallows hard against the lump in his throat, nodding to show he's heard her. He's immensely grateful when she guides his face down into her neck, giving him a minute to collect himself. Her hands run soothingly over his back and she closes her eyes, savoring the feeling of being back in his arms.

"I know we agreed on three weeks, but we might need to re-negotiate for two. I wouldn't have made it another week this time, I _miss_ you," she confesses quietly.

He'd stayed with her in D.C. for a long weekend two weeks ago, but now that he's holding her it feels like he last saw her two _months_ ago.

"Me too," he whispers, "Three weeks feels too long now, we can definitely re-negotiate."

Pulling back, he catches her mouth in a series of gentle kisses that make her sigh and hum appreciatively, threading her hands back into his hair. They kiss languidly for a little while, because they love to kiss each other and no one's telling them they can't, anymore. It's a beautiful aspect of their new reality that they luxuriate in.

The soft clink of tags breaks the spell of the moment.

"Hey you guys," Liv coos, bending down to greet the dogs, who recognize her by now and are thoroughly excited to see her, "How's my Dolly-girl?"

Dolly, in particular, has taken a liking to Olivia, following her relentlessly around the house, sitting on her feet wherever she is, whining pitifully when she leaves.

"You know, _I_ used to be her favorite," Fitz complains, dragging her suitcase inside and locking the door, finally setting the alarm.

"Mmm, you can't really have a favorite if there's only one option. Right, sweet girl?" she teases, rubbing Dolly's cheeks, stroking James' back when he comes over to stand next to her.

Fitz wraps her up into another hug, which she returns warmly, holding him tight.

"Are you hungry? I have leftovers, or I can make you something," he offers.

"No, I ate on the plane, I'm okay," she answers, running the back of her hand affectionately over his cheek.

"We should probably leave the foyer, at some point," he jokes, cracking a smile that doesn't quite reach his tired eyes.

"Well, I don't need any food, but I _am_ going to go pick out a bottle of wine. Meet me upstairs?"

Fitz nods, grabbing her suitcase as they head their separate ways.

When she comes upstairs with her glass of red, she catches him sitting on the bed, rubbing his hands over his face, looking completely drained. Setting her glass on the dresser, she walks over and stands between his legs, resting her hands on his shoulders. Her expression is unreadable, and he gives her a slightly quizzical look.

"I want—I want to be here for you but I'm—I can't imagine what you're going through," she admits softly, "I want to help you but I don't want to say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing, I want to be able to give you what you need—"

"Liv, I just need you," he interrupts.

She still looks apprehensive so he continues.

"Just having you here with me is enough, really. Just be with me. Just hang out with me, like always, that's more than enough."

"Okay," she breathes, "I can do that."

"Don't be nervous, don't treat me any differently. I'm still me. I'm just...sad right now," he admits, getting choked up again before he can stop himself, "This week is always really hard, and I'm sad. But having you here makes it a little easier. Thank you for coming, _thank you_."

She brings him forward and he nuzzles his face against her stomach, hugging her hips, breathing her in.

"Let's lay down," she whispers, feeling the weight of grief on him, pulling on his muscles, exhausting him.

"Are you sure? It's only nine," he tries, and she could almost cry, he's trying so hard to make things normal for her when clearly he was ready for bed hours ago.

"I'm exhausted, actually, let me just change and we can put the television on."

He can't hide the relief in his eyes when she comes to bed a few minutes later, pulling a fresh silk pillowcase onto her pillow, setting her glass of wine on the nightstand. She feels like _home_ to him, and he hadn't realized how much he needed that feeling until just now.

"C'mere," she murmurs.

"Too heavy, I'll crush you," he mumbles

"No, you won't," she soothes, pulling him into her arms.

He settles down with a deep sigh, head pillowed against her chest, and drapes an arm across her hips. He groans softly when one of her hands threads into his hair, scratching gently across his scalp the way he likes.

"I'm gonna fall asleep on you if you do that," he warns drowsily.

"Shh _…"_

His body relaxes against her almost immediately, deeply asleep, a testament to how truly exhausted he is. She strokes his hair for a few more minutes, sipping her wine, leaving the television off. His time as President has made him a lighter sleeper, and although she doubts it would wake him she's not taking any chances.

All he really needs over the next few days is for her to love him well, she realizes, and that's something she knows how to do.

* * *

Late afternoon the next day finds them submerged in the enormous Jacuzzi tub in the master bath, soaking in hot, scented water.

He's practically purring like a big cat as her skilled fingers move through his hair, first lathering the shampoo into rich suds and then massaging his scalp. She smiles as he lets out a particularly deep groan, pressing her thumbs in a little bit harder at the base of his neck. She works her hands through his waves, washing the soft strands with care. His hair is still unbelievably thick and luscious, but these days it's leaning away from chestnut and more toward salt and pepper, a look that only makes him sexier to her. She scratches her nails over the top of his scalp, giving it a good scrub, and then switches back to the pads of her fingers, rubbing firm circles toward his forehead and against his temples. Her hands slide back down to the top of his spine where he's the most tense and stay there for long minutes, working over him until she feels his muscles relax completely.

"God, your hands, Livvie," he moans, rolling his head back and forth to stretch his neck out.

"Alright, rinse," she instructs, giggling as he slides beneath the surface of the water, blowing bubbles through his nose.

His hands come up and help her get all of the soap out, the water clouding up with his musky shampoo. His abs tighten as he surfaces, turning to playfully spit water against her chest, grinning mischievously.

"Fitz," she laughs, "Get back over here, we're not done yet."

He lets her settle him back against her chest, sliding down to rest his head low on her shoulder, her knees bending up to cradle his body. She pours a small amount of his leave-in conditioner into her palm, methodically working it through his strands and then rinsing her hands in the water.

"There," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his chest from behind, "Better?"

"I've had that headache for days, and it's finally gone, thank you," he sighs, lacing the fingers of his left hand with her right.

She trails her fingers over his chest, enjoying the feel of his bare skin up against hers. Her mind wanders as they relax in the hot water, and she decides to voice one of the questions she's had lately.

"Do you ever—I mean, why don't you…" she trails off, second-guessing herself immediately.

"Ask me, it's okay," he soothes.

"Why don't you and Mellie spend Gerry's birthday together? If anyone can understand what you're feeling, she can."

"When we were married we did, we spent at least part of the day together. I think mostly because we felt like we should, like people would expect us to. Honestly, we didn't lean on each other that much, our grieving processes were so different. I couldn't understand the way she was coping and vice versa, and after we finally got divorced, we stopped talking for the most part. At this point we're not even friends, you know that, so we aren't much of a support system for each other," he explains.

"What about the kids?" she asks, cupping water over his shoulders, absently watching it bead up and roll down.

"We switch off with Teddy. He was with me last year and Mellie has him this year. Karen likes to do her own thing and we let her. She doesn't really like to dwell on it too much, and I think it's okay, we just give her space."

She hums behind him, acknowledging what he's told her.

"I told Teddy the other day that we're back together," he offers.

"Really? What did he say?"

"And I quote, he said 'Cool, I like Liv, as long as she doesn't cook'."

"He did not say that!" she scoffs.

"He did," Fitz laughs, trying to duck when she splashes water in his face.

"One time, Fitz, I cooked for the kid one time. I can't believe he even remembers that."

"He's known you his whole life, of course he remembers you living with us. Anyway, I promised him he'd see you when he's here in August, and that I would do all the cooking, he was really excited."

"You did?"

She doesn't mean to sound so surprised, it just hadn't occurred to her that Fitz would want her here during his time with Teddy.

"Yeah—shit, is that okay? I'm sorry, Liv, I didn't really think about—"

"No, no, it's fine, I'd love to see him," she reassures him, meeting his eyes when he turns to look at her, "And I'll take any excuse to be out here with you."

"You don't need an excuse," he reminds her gently, "This house is yours too."

"You keep saying that," she says quietly, blushing.

"Because I mean it," he counters, sitting back and pulling her forward through the water to straddle his lap, "Seriously, Liv, you can be here for twenty-four hours at a time or twenty-four _days_ at a time. I want you here, whenever you want to be here."

She gives him a soft smile, leaning forward to kiss him soundly. When she pulls back his eyes darken and immediately track down to her breasts, which are now on display thanks to their change in position.

"My eyes are up here, mister," she teases, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Two weeks, Livvie, two weeks."

"I know, baby," she murmurs, kissing him slowly, her breath hitching when his hands palm her hips and rock her over his lap, "Want you right here. You want to?"

"Mmm," he rumbles, slipping his fingers between her thighs, making her moan softly against his lips.

* * *

Later, as she's mixing up food for the dogs, Fitz disappears for a few minutes and comes back with his hands behind his back, looking at her expectantly.

"What?" she asks, suspiciously.

He holds up what he's been hiding.

"No."

"C'mon, Liv!"

"No!"

" _Please_ , it'll be fun."

"What are we, in college?"

"Oh, stop, adults do it all the time, especially here."

"Fitz, I haven't done that in decades."

"And you think, what, you've forgotten how? It's pretty self-explanatory."

"Wouldn't you rather just get drunk? I'll get drunk with you, if you want."

"That is not the same thing and you know it."

"What if—I mean—"

"Nope, see, you have no good excuses. Plus it's practically on the official List of Things to Do in Colorado now, it's a bucket list item you haven't crossed off yet."

"Maybe I don't have this particular activity on my Colorado bucket list."

"Well, maybe you should. C'mon, Livvie, what's the harm?"

Fitz can see her resolve weakening and he walks over to her, prying her crossed arms apart and backing her up against he counter.

"It's such a nice night. We'll go outside, lay out a quilt, look at the stars…hmm? Yes?" he cajoles, smirking, nuzzling his nose against hers.

Finally, she bites her lip in a half smile and rolls her eyes.

"Okay, _fine_."

"Yes!"

* * *

An hour later, she's sitting across his hips outside on the blanket, their plate of rolling supplies balanced on his chest. He watches with his mouth slightly agape as she creases the paper and starts packing weed into it, taking her time, creating a perfectly even layer. When she's satisfied, she nimbly twists the paper back and forth, expertly compacting the leaves properly before she starts to roll the joint, her tongue darting out to quickly lick the edge and seal it up. She twists up one end, adds a filter to the other and puts the plate aside, flopping down onto her back beside him. He still has the lighter so she puts the joint between her lips and turns her head for a light, only to find him staring at her incredulously.

"What?"

"Of _course_ you roll a perfect joint, why am I even surprised?" he laughs, throwing an arm over his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replies primly, reaching over him for the lighter.

"You let me roll the first one like an amateur when you can do _that_? Rude, Liv, rude."

"Listen, I can't give away all of my secrets, a girl's gotta maintain a little mystery," she retorts, taking a drag and handing him the joint.

He inhales and then rests his hand carefully down by his side, sighing deeply.

"I'm pretty high right now."

She bursts into giggles at his deadpanned confession, pressing her face into his bicep.

"And so are _you_ ," he continues, chuckling, "You're giggly when you're high, Ms. Pope."

"Is that why you wanted to smoke with me? So you could find out what I'm like?"

"Yes," he admits immediately, making her laugh again.

"This stuff is way stronger than anything I've smoked before, I'll tell you that much," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"Well, now that it's legal, it's easy to find the quality stuff."

They're quiet for a few minutes, listening to the crickets, staring up into the night sky. It's a clear night, and he's turned off most of the lights in the house so that they have an unadulterated view of the stars, free of light pollution.

"You forget there are so many stars up there when you live in a city," she muses, speaking a touch slower than normal.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? It's one of my favorite things about being out here in the middle of nowhere."

"Makes you feel really small. Like you're a…I dunno, like you're something really small."

She loses her train of thought, making them both laugh again, and he turns his head to look at her.

"Seriously though, where did you learn to roll like that? College?"

She steals the joint back from him and slips it between her lips, shaking her head in response to his question.

"No way. I mean, I tried it a few times in college but I smoked a lot more in law school, actually."

"Really?"

"Sure. I mean, I'm sure you remember, law school was just on a whole other level, stress-wise."

"You're such a natural though, I guess I just never pictured you getting stressed out."

"Well, just because I was good at what I was doing didn't mean I couldn't feel the pressure. And I figured weed every so often was a better choice than whatever pills the person next to me in class was popping on a daily basis. I stopped right before I started studying for the bar though, and I haven't smoked since."

He reaches for the joint but she pushes his hand away, playfully placing it between his lips for him.

"What about you? What were you like in college?" she asks softly, propping her head up on her hand.

"Oh, I lived it up," he confesses.

"I'm sure you did," she smiles, sliding over when he wraps are arm around her, cuddling her into his side.

"Oh, yeah. Finally being away from my dad, knowing I had this whole pre-ordained plan waiting for me, I took full advantage."

"I mean, what are we talking about here, alcohol? Pot? Anything else?" she prompts, trying to pry secrets out of him.

He turns to look at her with a grimace on his face and she gasps.

"Fitzgerald Grant, what else? Tell me!" she exclaims, pretending to be scandalized.

"I tried cocaine once," he sighs, "Hated it, never did it again. I loved ecstasy though, I did that a few times, mostly to blow off steam after a fight with my dad or a tough exam or something."

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head at him in mock reprimand.

"I had no idea I was dating such a bad boy," she breathes.

"Is it a turn on?"

" _You're_ a turn on," she murmurs, brushing the wayward curl away from his forehead.

She leans up and kisses him a few times, tasting the weed on his tongue.

"But I can't have sex with you again right now, I'm way too high," she states.

"Oh, no?" Fitz laughs.

"No. Maybe in like an hour though," she sighs, laying her head on his chest.

"Okay, in an hour? Sounds good, Livvie, I'll be here," he teases.

"Do you think we would've been friends in college?" she muses, dreamily.

"No."

"Why not?" she asks, picking her head up again, somewhat indignant that he's replied so quickly.

"Because I never could've been your friend. I'd have fallen for you immediately, as soon as we met, no matter when it happened."

She stares at him for a moment.

"That's a really sweet thing to say," she whispers.

"Just the truth," he smiles, running his finger down the bridge of her nose.

They pass their second joint back and forth until it's gone, decide neither one of them want another, and settle down to enjoy the lingering effects of the plant. Liv pulls another quilt off the pile he's brought outside and throws it over them to ward off the rapidly cooling night air, sighing in contentment and tucking herself into his side.

"Do you ever wish we'd actually met in college?"

"Mmm," she hums, mulling his question over, "I don't know, maybe. That's a tricky question. Who knows what would've happened if we'd met then, how many things would've changed. Which people would be in our lives now and which ones wouldn't. Who knows if we'd even be together now? If we'd met sooner, maybe different circumstances—maybe we wouldn't have made it…"

"Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know, I'm just saying. All the experiences I've had, everything I did up until I met you, it all brought me to that place. And everything we've gone through since then has brought us here. I don't know if I would change that. Do you wish we'd met sooner?"

"I do," he answers without hesitation.

"Tell me why," she prompts, genuinely curious.

"I just get caught up in the idea of all that wasted time. I wasted so much time being unhappy, being with the wrong person. It's such a cliché, but I feel like I didn't even know what love _was_ until I met you. You changed everything. I met you and I felt like I could do anything, like I could conquer the world. If we'd had that all along? Who knows?"

"Okay, seriously, how many times are you gonna try to make me cry tonight?" she mumbles against his chest, squeezing her arm around his waist.

He chuckles and she props herself up so she can look at him, surprised to see tears in his eyes.

"I always think about—he barely got any time, you know?" he says softly, brow furrowed, "You can't take anything for granted, because we don't really know how much time we have. I just think about everything I've missed, with him, with you. I don't ever want to waste time, now that we're together, and we're strong, I just—I want to do everything with you."

She listens raptly, and the openness in his eyes takes her breath away.

"What do you want to do?" she asks, quietly, "Lets make a list. Because we have time, Fitz, we do. It's _our_ time now, and I'm done wasting it too. So let's make a list."

She reaches back and pulls her phone out of her pocket, opening a blank note.

"Ready," she announces.

"Umm, let's see," he smiles, rolling his eyes up.

"I have one," she interrupts, typing on her phone, "I want to travel with you. You've been to more countries than me and I'm jealous."

" _Yes_. I'd love that."

"Okay, what else?"

* * *

Liv finally signs out of the video chat session and shuts her computer.

She'd slept in with Fitz this morning after their late night, pushing the call with her team back a few hours. With the help of technology she's able to easily keep track of the goings-on at OPA, running meetings and conferencing with clients. There had been a bit of a disconnect at first, but now that she's done it several times, and will most likely be doing more of it, everyone is getting used to the idea. She has no desire to stop running her business, but at the same time she's finished with letting her personal life take a backseat and she's determined to make it all work. Her team is quite self-sufficient at this point, mainly needing final approval on all decisions, but she likes to personally maintain a relationship with her clients and video chats allow her to do that. They've started to split his current office in half to make space for her, but he's been adamant about building her desk himself so, for now, she works in his space when she's here. He'd offered her the spare room on the first floor as her own office, but she'd hinted that room might be better used as her own fitness space, with a heater for yoga and some Pilates equipment. She doesn't live here full-time, _yet_ , but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't prepping for it.

Dolly is waiting for her when she opens the office door, tail wagging happily. Fitz is nowhere to be seen on the first floor so she climbs the stairs, Dolly trailing at her heels. The loft is breezy and bright this time of the afternoon and he's opened the balcony doors all the way, the ceiling fan whirring softly. She finds him hunched over the coffee table, which is covered in pictures. Her breath catches when she realizes he's crying, sniffling softly every few seconds as he thumbs through the photographs.

Liv approaches him cautiously, not wanting to intrude if he'd rather be left alone, but as soon as he realizes she's there he holds his hand out, inviting her to join him on the couch. He pulls her into his side and squeezes her close. She cradles his face with her left hand, brushing a few tears away with her thumb, and he gives her a sad smile.

"I haven't looked at these in a long time," he says roughly, clearing his throat.

She turns her attention to the dozens of photos littering the table. They're family photos dating back to when the kids were little, going all the way through his time as Governor and his first term as President. Nearly all of the photos include Gerry.

"Was this in Santa Barbara?" she asks softly, touching a photo of Fitz holding a toddler-age Gerry on the beach, both clad in swim trunks with wet, ocean-tossed hair.

"Yeah, he—"

He breaks off to swallow thickly, his voice a little stronger when he continues.

"He loved the beach, from the time he was little. He used to run right into the ocean, scared us to death."

He hasn't really wanted to talk about Gerry too much, and although his tears make her hurt for him she's glad to see him openly remembering and processing.

"I didn't know he played hockey for so long," she muses, indicating numerous photos of Gerry, at various ages, in hockey gear.

"The ice was his favorite place to be, as soon as we bought him skates there was no going back," Fitz remembers.

Liv points to a photo of Gerry holding Karen as a newborn.

"This is a cute one."

"He liked her for about three days and that was it," he says, laughing a little bit, "We had to explain to him a few times that she wasn't just visiting, she was here to stay."

Smiling, she asks him about a few more pictures, helping him relive some of the happy memories.

"He was tall, like you," she breathes, indicating a photo of the whole family from Fitz's second term election year.

He nods, shuffling the pictures around.

She picks up a classic photo of Gerry sleeping on top of Fitz's bare chest as an infant, both of them looking quiet and peaceful. A sob catches in his chest when he sees which picture she's looking at.

"He was a really good baby, he slept, he never cried unless he was hungry," Fitz recalls, tears in his voice.

His cheeks are wet again, and he rests his forehead against his palms for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. He feels like his chest is cracking open, the now familiar pain of grief overwhelming him.

"I miss him, Liv."

She blinks away her own tears, rubbing circles over his back.

"Do you—do you remember him?" he asks her suddenly.

"Of _course_ I do," she whispers, meeting his red-rimmed eyes, "He was so…smart, he always had a million and one questions for me, he wanted to learn everything he could about politics, about the world. He was strong-willed, too, he was strong-willed enough to be President someday if he wanted, I think. He was an amazing kid, Fitz."

He looks down, resting his elbows on his knees.

"He was. Even in spite of everything I put him through," he murmurs.

"Hey, don't," she says immediately, wanting to shut down that train of thought, " _Look at me_."

Reluctantly, he looks up at her.

"You are an incredible father," she says softly, with conviction, "Maybe you aren't always perfect, but no one is. He knew he was loved."

Liv searches the table for a moment, grabbing a picture of Fitz playfully holding a teenage Gerry in a headlock after one of his hockey games, both of them laughing.

"These are the memories that stick, not the arguments, not the teenage angst," she says, handing him the photo, "He knew he was loved."

His face relaxes a little as he stares at the picture. Eventually, he looks at her again, something else shining in his eyes along with the sadness.

"Can I—would you mind giving me a minute?"

She smiles gently in understanding.

"Sure. I'm going to take the dogs outside."

She leans over and presses a kiss to his forehead as she stands up, calling for the dogs to follow her. He catches her hand before she walks away, squeezing it tightly, and when Liv turns back to look at him she realizes it's gratitude in his eyes, that he's thanking her without words. She squeezes back for a moment, telling him she gets it, before leaving him to his thoughts.

* * *

The morning of Gerry's birthday, they get up to watch the sunrise.

He's not in bed with her when her alarm goes off at five-thirty am. She quickly pulls on a pair of black compression tights and her favorite pale green running tank, zipping a black track jacket over it and grabbing one of his fleece pullovers for an extra layer. Gathering her hair back into a ponytail, she comes out into the loft and finds him drinking coffee in front of the windows. He's dressed for their day already, wearing his gray hiking pants and a maroon tech tee, looking out over the dark landscape.

Wordlessly, she wraps her arms around him from behind, laying her cheek between his shoulder blades. He lays his free hand over hers in silent appreciation, taking comfort in her for a moment.

She doesn't question the breach in protocol when Ben slides out of the driver's seat and hands Fitz the keys, and it's only a ten minute drive to the trailhead of Sapphire Point. Fitz parks the SUV and walks around to her side, holding his hand out for hers as they begin the short hike to the overlook, the dogs running slightly ahead. The trail loops around through the evergreens, carved and worn from years of foot traffic, making it a safe climb in the eerie early morning light. They reach the overlook just before sunrise and he guides her to sit on the stone retention wall, making sure she's secure before he sits down next to her. He looks back over his shoulder to make sure the dogs are sitting somewhere nearby and then pulls her close, wrapping an arm around her.

The light changes as the sun starts to come up behind them. She'd been a little confused as to how they were going to watch a sunrise from a west-facing point, but as it starts to happen she gets it, and it's magnificent. It's not the sun they're watching, it's the light. They're high on the edge of the mountain, overlooking the entire Dillon Reservoir and the Rocky Mountain peaks immediately west. For the first few minutes, the mountains are bathed in deep orange light so rich that they almost look red, the trees blending with the rock. Rapidly, the orange lightens to a gold that brings out the color of the earth, the deep green of the forests, the navy depths of the reservoir. As the sun rises, the golden light turns into a blinding, otherworldly white, sharpening and defining the edges of everything it touches. Finally, the sun is high enough that the true color of the landscape emerges; bright greens and purples across the base of the mountains, steel gray near the tips, and shimmering turquoise water spread out below them.

Olivia is nearly breathless by the time it's all over, she's never seen anything so beautiful.

She feels like she's been having an out-of-body experience, and when she finally turns to look at him she realizes he's been watching her take it all in. She looks at him with wide, overwhelmed eyes, because there are just no words to describe how incredible it was, how special this is. But by now they're so in sync that they don't need words. In fact, they haven't spoken a word to each other all morning, and it doesn't feel strange at all.

They sit in silence a while longer, listening to the wildlife waking up around them. Birds start to chirp and shrill in earnest, and he points out two chipmunks darting around in the rocks on the slope to their left. Finally, he takes a deep breath and breaks the silence.

"Thank you, for being here with me," he murmurs, taking her hand and pressing a kiss against the back of it, closing his eyes.

"Thanks for letting me," she returns, and she knows he's not just talking about this morning.

Not only are they back together, they're stronger than ever. They're playing for keeps this time. It's finally _their time_ , and they aren't wasting a single second of it.

* * *

 **A/N: That was my tribute to Gerry Grant, He Who Was Never Properly Mourned by Fitz. Seriously, we got about 6 full episodes of Mellie walking around in a bathrobe and just a few mentions of Fitz being sad. Fathers grieve too. My vision for this story from here on out is to really deepen and strengthen the Olitz relationship in a character-driven way. My strength lies in that type of writing, and I prefer to write character-driven rather than plot-driven stories, if that makes sense. So, I hope you guys are still with me, if you are leave me a review and let me know! Also, I hope y'all don't mind that I kept this one PG-13, it just didn't feel right otherwise.**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: WHOA this chapter came out fast. I got the idea for the first scene and it all fell into place. Just so no one gets confused, the fundraiser in the first scene is NOT the same one referenced several chapters ago, we've moved forward in time. Also, Olivia's dress in the first scene is Kerry Washington's ACLU dress from 2015, so you can google that if you want to see what it looks like (she's REGAL in it). As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing, it means the world to me!**

* * *

 **July 2019, Washington D.C.**

Olivia gives her name to the intern at the entrance of the ballroom and he admits her immediately, checking her name off on his list. People are already staring at her when she walks in, and she catches herself smoothing the front of her black cocktail dress self-consciously, smiling politely at a senator she vaguely recognizes. She passes the coat check, opting to keep her clutch with her in case she needs her phone to locate Fitz, but her eyes are drawn to him immediately. He's leaning against the bar in the corner of the room talking to a woman who is… _throwing_ herself at him.

Olivia doesn't recognize the middle-aged brunette, but it's obvious from a mile away that she's flirting with him, the sound of her high, tinkling laughter floating across the room. Anyone else might immediately start to seethe, seeing their lover in a flirtatious conversation with another woman, but to Olivia it's painfully obvious that he's not the least bit interested. His body language is completely closed off, his arms casually crossed, and every time the woman leans forward into him, he's unconsciously tilting away from her, putting more space between them. Liv can see the subtle tension in his jaw as he pretends to laugh with her, the tightness across his shoulders. He's not flirting back, he's uncomfortable.

The Brunette leans forward again and Olivia's stomach lurches as she puts her hands on him, one running down his shoulder and the other grasping his forearm. She takes a second to compose herself, unprepared for her own visceral reaction, although it's completely justified. Just because she didn't walk in on his arm tonight, doesn't mean it isn't public knowledge that he's taken, that he's _hers_. She should have expected this, though. The press has been having a field day with them lately, and not in a good way. They've gone to two other events together, but otherwise have managed not to be seen in public very much, trying to hang on to every shred of privacy that they can. In the meantime, any time one of them is seen in public without the other, rumors of cheating run rampant. The latest cycle stems from a one-on-one lunch Fitz had attended yesterday with a new potential donor, a young, female executive.

" **President Grant Moves On? Olivia Pope Reportedly Devastated."**

" **Once a Cheater Always a Cheater…President Grant Seen Canoodling with Blonde Intern."**

" **How You Meet Him is How He'll Leave You: Grant Cheats with Mystery Blonde."**

The tabloid headlines are brutal, sensational even, and they'd both underestimated just how many people still consume that type of media. She's had her fair share of headlines followed by advances from men as well, but it's a non-starter for them. Neither of them worry, neither of them even have to ask, because they know. It's all nonsense, it's all fabricated. Only they know what goes on behind closed doors, and that's the way it will stay. They have no plans to indulge the reporters with an interview, they have the opportunity to keep their private lives private this time and they're taking it. If women want to speculate on whether he's single or not, so be it, she knows the truth and that's enough for her.

Still, it doesn't mean she won't put a boldly flirtatious woman back in her place, if given the opportunity.

Liv pulls out her phone and types a text. Across the room, she sees him glance at his watch, reading her message.

 _Livvie: She's pretty ;-)_

He holds up a finger to the woman, fishing his phone from his pocket to type a reply that comes through quickly.

 _Fitz: HELP_

She stifles a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. Tucking her phone away she strides gracefully across the room toward him. She can tell the moment she's close enough for him to catch her scent, to recognize the cadence of her heels on the marble floor. She watches his whole body relax, and he turns right before she's come around into his line of vision, the soft, easy smile he reserves just for her spreading across his face.

"Hey, you," he murmurs, low enough that only she can hear him.

His hands splay over her back as she immediately pulls him close, capturing his mouth in a kiss without hesitation. His breath catches and one of his hands moves to cradle her cheek instinctively, delicately tracing his thumb back and forth. She parts her lips, deepening the kiss, keeping it just on the edge of being publicly appropriate while still accomplishing her goal of making the Brunette shift uncomfortably next to them. When they break apart, Fitz turns back to her.

"Liv, this is Meagan Reynolds, her father owns Reynolds Chemical," he smiles, bringing Liv forward.

 _Ah, daughter of a big donor, that's why he's been playing nice_

"Olivia Pope," she greets, extending her hand with as much faux warmth as she can muster, "So nice to meet you."

"I—yes, of course, your reputation precedes you Ms. Pope, it's an honor. Your work is legendary," Meagan simpers, shaking her hand, looking more than slightly disappointed by her presence.

"I don't know about all of that," Liv laughs, her fingers coming up to play with the buttons of Fitz's jacket when he pulls her into his side, "But you're right, people can generally tell when I've put my stamp on something."

The gesture is small, but bold, sending a very clear message to the woman standing before her. The underlying implication of what she's just said is unmistakable, and the three of them stand in semi-awkward silence for a moment.

"Oh, should we…?" Liv softly starts the sentence and gives him a _look_ , letting him finish her thought and come up with an excuse for them.

"Right, we should do that. If you'll excuse us, Liv promised she'd look over my speech," Fitz smiles politely.

With a hand firmly at her lower back he guides her away, starting to walk over to a small conference room attached to the ballroom.

"Well alright then, Ms. Pope," he breathes incredulously, teasing her for her blatant display of possessiveness.

"What?" she murmurs innocently, blushing.

As soon as he's got the door closed he slides warm hands over her hips, bringing her close and fitting his mouth over hers. Olivia sighs and kisses him back, her body responding to his touch immediately. He feels so good against her, and she's _missed_ him, because despite all of their attempts at careful planning it's been nearly a month since they last saw one another.

"Mmm, hi," she smiles against his lips, loosely gripping his lapels.

"Hi," he grins.

She hums into another kiss, moaning softly when his hands slide firmly from her waist, down over her ass, pressing her hips into him.

"Fitz, we can't, this is _your_ fundraiser, people will notice if you're missing," she sighs, reluctantly breaking the kiss and resting her forehead against his.

"We can," he counters lowly, nudging her head to the side, nuzzling his beard against her neck, "We can say a proper hello for a few minutes."

"Not fair," she whines, squeezing her thighs together as he trails his lips over her neck.

He knows what that does to her, and he chuckles against her skin. It's not that she doesn't want to touch him, to feel his hands on her, it's that she _does_. Her panties are damp already, just from his kisses and his hands stroking her body, and she'd rather not soak through them completely when she has _hours_ left to wait before she can have him.

"Just a couple minutes, Livvie, c'mon," he murmurs, kissing her soft and quick.

She cups his jaw, pulling him back so that she can give him her most stern expression.

" _One_ minute, and we can't get carried away," she breathes, trying not to smile.

"You just wasted ten seconds reprimanding me, kiss me woman," he growls, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She giggles and winds her arms around his neck, finally letting her mouth fall open against his. He kisses her unhurriedly, lazily stroking his tongue over hers, soaking up the feeling of having her in his arms.

"You look _incredible_ ," he breathes, kissing across the bare skin of her shoulder, nipping at her collarbone.

It's a simple dress, sophisticated and sexy. The black fabric of her skirt is cut straight, flowing in a clean line down to her ankles, skimming her body but not hugging it. The bodice of the dress is fitted, nipped in at the waist, and the neckline is an elegant off the shoulder design. The dress puts all of the luminous brown skin of her shoulders and décolletage on display, practically crying out for him to trace it with his mouth.

"You clean up too, mister, it's been a while since I've seen you in a suit," she replies, playing with his tie.

The man wears a suit so well, and if she's honest she misses seeing him in them. All of his suits are impeccably tailored, his jackets outlining and emphasizing his broad shoulders, his pants cut to hang perfectly around his strong thighs. She strokes her hands over his arms, delighting in the firm flexion of his biceps and forearms as his hands move over her.

"Feeling a little territorial back there?" he asks, grinning, settling his hands at her lower back.

"She touched you," Liv admits, brow furrowed, adorably petulant, "I didn't like it."

"Trust me, I didn't like having it happen," he murmurs, "Only hands I want on me are yours."

She catches her tongue between her teeth, grinning as she slides her hands around to squeeze his ass. Fitz hums appreciatively, dipping his mouth back to her bare shoulders.

"We should probably get to my speech at some point," he mumbles, delicately tracing her pulse point with his tongue.

"Oh, did you actually want me to look at your speech? I thought Abby checked it over already."

"She did, but…"

He trails off, and she smiles at him knowingly. Abby has looked at his speech, but he wants to know what _she_ thinks.

He sinks into one of the chairs around the conference room table and pulls her into his lap, just to have her close, passing her the folder containing his speech.

"This is just—it's a big one, a personal one, I want to make sure it's right," he admits quietly.

"I know," she nods, smiling gently in understanding, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Okay, let's see."

She reads through the short speech once silently, and then has him read it out loud to her. They work through a few spots that need strengthening and she gives him a few last minute tips on delivery, finally pronouncing the speech perfect. As they stand up together and he turns toward her so that she can straighten his tie, they pause, smiling knowingly at the very familiar position in which they've found themselves.

"It's gonna be _great_ ," she reassures him, smoothing his lapels.

He smiles and extends his hand, starting to walk toward the door.

"Wait."

He lets her pull him back to her, looking at her curiously. She unbuttons his suit jacket so that she can slide her arms underneath.

"One more minute," she murmurs, tucking herself against his chest.

He wraps her up in his arms, pressing his nose into her hair. They rock back and forth unconsciously, breathing each other in, until his cell phone starts to vibrate angrily. He pulls it out to read the text and starts to laugh, handing Liv the phone so she can read.

 _Abby: TELL ME YOU ARE NOT HAVING SEX IN THERE BECAUSE FITZGERALD I SWEAR TO GOD I CAN'T. Speech in 15, button it up and get the hell out here._

"Oops," Liv giggles, buttoning his jacket for him.

"Yeah, oops. She's still a little traumatized from, you know, before," he says, sheepishly referring to his "wild card" phase.

It's not something he's proud of but it's something they've already discussed and moved past. Liv had never been happy to hear that he was with other women in the year following their break up, but at the same time she hadn't held it against him. They weren't together, and he was divorced, he was free to do what he wanted. Sure, if they had been on speaking terms back then she would have read him the riot act for how irresponsible he was being, but she was never angry with him over it.

"Alright, well, let's get out there before she starts banging on the door."

They exit the room and Abby's waiting for them nearby, arms crossed, looking less than amused.

"We weren't, I swear," Fitz says immediately, eyes wide, holding his hands up in defense.

"Save it," Abby barks, advancing on him, making him take a step back, "Martinelli just got here, he's over by the appetizers, you have ten minutes to schmooze. I'll come get you for your speech."

Liv hangs back, trying to stifle her laugh at the exchange happening in front of her. After four years as Fitz's press secretary and now two years as the head of public relations for the foundation, Abby has developed her own way of handling him and it is _glorious_.

"Abby, we really weren't—"

"Nope, don't want to hear it, go," she orders, her voice full of venom.

He immediately walks off in the direction of the appetizers, shooting Liv a mock-terrified expression from behind Abby's back.

"And _you_ —"

"Oh, don't even start with me, you know perfectly well we weren't having sex in there," Liv scoffs.

"I know, I was kidding," Abby says, cracking a smile and pulling her friend into a hug, "I just need to maintain a certain level of fear so he'll do what I need him to do. When did you get here? Why couldn't the two of you have made out earlier, made my life a little less stressful?"

"We would have, clearly, but his flight plans were delayed and he had to come straight over, this is the first I've seen him since he got here."

" _Oh_ , okay," Abby nods, "Well, I guess you're excused this one time."

"Had to practically pull that one off of him when I got here," Liv mutters, nodding discretely across the room to the Brunette, from earlier.

"Yeah, she's a bit of an aggressor, Fitz isn't the first to fall victim," Abby agrees, rolling her eyes.

She starts to say something and hesitates, sparking Liv's curiosity.

"What?"

"I said it to him and I'll say it to you, if you'd let me set up an interview—"

"No."

"—just one well-timed, joint interview, maybe let me orchestrate a little photo-op at that new Italian place—"

" _Abby_."

"I'm just saying. It would put everything to rest and then you wouldn't be dealing with this crap."

"We did all of that, before. And all it did was create more problems on top of the ones we already had. We're keeping a low profile this time, we don't care what they're saying about us, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we're _good_ , this time. We're strong, and we're only getting stronger. I don't want anything to mess that up."

"I get it," Abby smiles, "I just hate to see you guys going through it again. I want to help."

"I know, and we appreciate it. But we're good, promise," Liv says, reassuring her.

"Come on, I'll show you where our table is, I need to grab him so they can introduce him."

They're seated relatively close to the small stage at the front of the ballroom. Fitz slides into his seat next to her, looking a little nervous, unconsciously moving his chair half an inch closer and leaning in to her. As he greets the other people sitting with them she slides her hand over his, squeezing it in silent support under the table. They announce him, and he strides onto the stage with his Presidential persona shining through, any hint of nerves completely hidden.

"Good evening, and thank you all for joining us tonight," he starts, his nerves giving him a moment of pause.

He looks into the audience and catches Liv's gaze. She gives him a soft, reassuring smile and he takes a breath, getting in to the speech.

"As you all know, five years ago I lost my son Gerry to bacterial meningitis. It is the hardest thing I have ever gone through in my life. It devastated all of us, myself, my daughter Karen, Gerry's mother Mellie, his little brother Teddy. It left a hole in my family that will never be filled. It robbed my son of the chance to grow up, to follow his dreams. It took his life in the blink of an eye. Amid the grief, I was angry, and I wanted to fight back, I wanted to contribute somehow, I wanted his death to mean something. I thought to myself, surely, there must be an army of people working on this, working to fight this horrible disease. Imagine my shock when I did some Googling, and discovered that there are only two sources of funding specifically dedicated to providing resources to labs studying bacterial meningitis, and both of those are based in the UK."

He pauses for emphasis, making eye contact with as many people as possible.

"I thought to myself, 'how can this be?'. How could a gap in private funding like this exist? I was appalled, and I felt called to action. Today, I am proud to tell you that the Gerry Grant Foundation for Meningitis Research and Awareness has been established as the only source of private funding in the United States for scientists studying this disease. Last month, the first round of funding went out to fifteen investigators around the country, they each received grants of three hundred thousand dollars per year for a three year period. This first round has been more successful that I ever thought possible, and I have all of you to thank. Our success so far has been possible because of every single person in this room. I want to thank every single one of you for your contribution, I'll never be able to express how much it means to myself and my family. I can't bring my son back—"

Fitz tears up for the first time, clearing his throat, looking down at the podium.

"I can't bring my son back. But I can honor his memory. And we can all work together to make sure that one day, no family ever has to lose a child to this disease again. Thank you."

The end of his speech is met with thunderous applause. Liv is beaming at him from the audience and he breathes a sigh of relief, walking offstage, anxious to be back at her side.

* * *

Being in her apartment isn't the same as being up in the mountains, it doesn't quite have that all encompassing peace and safety. Still, they can close the door and lock out the world, and they do that now, immediately getting wrapped up in each other.

Their kisses are slow and hot, long and languid. She flicks her tongue over his, threading her hands into his hair the way she's wanted to all night. The waves are soft between her fingers, the perfect length to gently grab and twist. His hands are sliding back and forth from her hips to her ass, pressing her against his erection over and over, desperate for the pressure. Liv pulls in a long breath through her nose and sighs it out as he takes control of the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in an echo of what their lower halves are instinctually trying to do. It makes heat curl in her belly and she un-tucks his shirt, slipping her hands beneath it, dragging her nails over the dips of his abs. The breath shudders out of him at the feeling and he breaks their kiss, hissing. He buries his face in her neck, sucking kisses there while his hands roam aimlessly. Her dress is long and he can't get under it, not that he isn't trying, bunching the thick fabric up to her knees every so often.

"Are you wet for me?" he murmurs into her ear, and if she weren't already, she would be _now_.

"Mmm-hmm…since before, in the conference roo— _oh_ ," she breaks off into a soft moan when he bites down on her earlobe, sucking on it to soothe the sting.

She feels like they're moving through water, everything is so thick and hazy with arousal. Ten years, and she still can't even begin to satisfy her craving for him, he still makes her head spin and her knees weak. She's _hungry_ for him. When he's touching her, the entire world falls away and the only things that matter are his hands, his eyes, his mouth.

It's not long before they're naked and he's laying her out on the bed, nudging her legs apart. She's warm and creamy when he slides the tips of two fingers inside her, and her mouth falls open against his cheek, her breathing immediately labored. He teases her, circling her sensitive opening, making himself comfortable between her thighs, letting her pull him close. She likes to have him close when he makes her come, he anchors her, enables her to let go all the more freely, heightens her orgasm. Her climaxes with him have always been so intense that when she's falling, giving herself over to it, being able to feel that he's there to catch her makes it that much better. One of her arms curls up to grip her pillow and the other tangles in his hair, tugging when his fingers press deep, all the way inside so that her inhale squeaks a little bit and her hips flex.

" _Fitz, ungh_ ," she gasps, her breath catching, brows furrowed.

Her muscles are relaxed and it's easy for him to curl up, to start putting pressure on her G-spot, but he takes his time. He can read her so well, always, and sometimes she's _really_ in the mood for this, craving the specific pressure she only gets from his fingers. The way she's moving now, the way she can't seem to take a full breath, tells him he has time to play, that she wants him to linger, and he does. He kisses her until she's breathing too unevenly to kiss him back, moving to her neck, her breasts, staying close enough that she can nuzzle her face against his.

"Don't stop— _oh_ — _baby, don't stop_."

Her hips rock with his fingers as they press, and stroke, and coax her closer and closer to the edge. She's not being loud, she's just making little moaning sounds that are completely undone, tossing her head and arching her neck, and it's insanely arousing. He already knows how she likes to be touched but he pays close attention anyway, repeating the things that make her gasp and writhe for his own pleasure as much as hers. She comes in a rush, tingling pleasure radiating through her core and up into her belly, sparking all the way out to her curling toes.

He slides inside her while she's still pulsing with aftershocks, moaning at how molten and silky she feels, propping himself up so that he can watch the bliss continue to play out on her face. She arches her back, wrapping her left leg around his hip and pulling him down into a kiss, whimpering when he starts to move. She only lets him thrust a few times before she leverages her weight to flip them, sitting up over him. His eyes darken and his hands are all over her immediately, cupping her breasts, gripping her hips, running over her thighs as she starts to ride him. She braces both hands against his firm lower abs, making a sound that's half moan and half laugh, rolling her hips in a way she knows will drive him crazy.

" _Fuck_ ," he moans, legs twitching as she contracts her muscles around him.

Liv bites her lip, leaning forward to brace her hands on the bed next to his shoulders. His hands go to her hips and press her back, angling his pelvis so that she takes him deeper. Their rhythm slows down until she's barely moving, grinding into the perfect pressure he's creating until she's dangerously close again. At the last second she sits up and he moves his thumb to massage her clit, pushing her over the edge again. Being spread open over his hips like this sharpens her climax, making every throb and pulse feel harder, more intense. Her breath comes in short pants, each exhale tinged with a high-pitched moan as she falls forward, bracing herself on his shoulders. He lets her come down and start moving on her own time, knowing she'll be sensitive and tender now. In the interim, he can't resist drawing a few soft moans from her by taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and drawing circles with his tongue.

After the two incredible orgasms he's given her, she delights in the pleasure on his face as she starts to ride him in earnest, eager to give as good as she's gotten. She rolls her hips, squeezing him rhythmically until his hips jerk against her involuntarily and his moans take on a desperate edge. Leaning forward, she thrusts her hips back, taking him harder, sucking a mark onto his chest right next to his nipple. He's moaning with every thrust, encouraging her, letting her know he loves what she's doing.

" _Livvie—fuck, Liv_."

She sits up, flexing her thighs to drop her hips down onto him over and over, and his hands fly to her waist as he groans loudly. He starts to come then, cursing, crying out.

" _Yes, baby_ ," she breathes, going back to that slow rolling rhythm.

She draws out his orgasm that way for a while, contracting around him, kissing his neck. He rolls her beneath him and buries his face in her neck, thrusting deep a few times, making her gasp and slide her fingers into his hair. Their breathing slows and he kisses his way over her jaw, up to her mouth.

Kissing him after they've made love is one of her favorite things. She loves to be in that quiet moment with him, when he's still resting inside her and everything is tingling pleasantly. He looks at her like they're sharing a secret that no one else could possibly understand, kissing her slowly and deeply, smiling against her lips between kisses.

"Mmm, come get in the shower with me," she murmurs, running her hands over the smooth, soft skin of his back.

"You need to install a bathtub in this place," he teases, slipping out of her and starting to roll out of bed.

"I'll get right on that," she laughs, letting him pull her up out of the pile of sheets.

* * *

Olivia is crying.

Liv is crying and he needs to get to her, which is an uncomplicated thought complicated by the fact that he's still half asleep. He surges toward consciousness, wading through the fog that comes with being woken from a deep sleep. As he blinks in the darkness and rubs a hand over his face, Fitz can feel her writhing on the bed next to him, her sobs loud and heartbreaking. The sound rings in his ears and jolts his sleep-addled brain into full awareness.

She's rolled away from him in the night and she's having a nightmare, a bad one.

He hasn't woken up to her having a nightmare in a long time. It had happened more than a few times in the residence, with varying degrees of severity, but usually he doesn't stir until she wakes up gasping for breath, her face sometimes streaked with silent tears. She's only cried like this and woken him up a couple times before. She hasn't had _any_ nightmares since they've been back together and for months before, as far as he knows, and he's rattled by the sudden, awful one she's having right now.

He takes a deep breath and reaches toward her across the bed. Carefully, he gathers her up, smoothing the tee shirt she's wearing, and rolls to spoon her shaking body. Pressing his mouth against her ear, he whispers reassurances.

"Livvie…you're okay. Shh, I'm here, we're okay."

She's still sobbing and her arms push weakly against his embrace for a few seconds, but he knows how to wait it out. He's not trying to wake her, never ever wanting to shock her out of it, he's trying to get his words to penetrate her subconscious, to gently rouse her. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, but it's the safest thing to try, he knows. He knows to keep his voice pitched low and soft, to keep his grip firm but not too tight, to keep talking, to keep letting her hear him. She's starting to wake up, he can tell, because her sobs are tapering off and she's gasping instead, her movements becoming more deliberate.

"Shh, hey, _hey_ , it's me," he whispers when she's almost awake, starting to really fight him, "You're okay, it's just me, _stop_."

The moment she's lucid she stops fighting him, sinking back into his embrace for a second, her chest heaving. Before he realizes what's happening she's thrown his arms from around her, darted into the bathroom, and he can hear her getting sick. He rolls to his back and runs his hands through his hair, taking a second before he follows her, flipping the light on.

She's crying, violently emptying the contents of her stomach at the same time and his heart breaks for her. Her hair is already wrapped into a bun for sleeping so he settles for sitting behind her, propped against the side of the tub, rubbing a hand over her back in what he hopes are soothing circles. It doesn't last long, thankfully, she dry heaves a few times and then it's over. She swallows repeatedly, slowing her breathing down, trying to get her bearings. When she closes the lid of the toilet and lays her forehead against it, he gets up to wet a cloth with cool water, laying it over the back of her neck because she's pale and flushed at the same time and he doesn't want her to pass out. She keeps her head down and her eyes closed for a few minutes, reaching out for him blindly, gripping his hand when he gives it to her.

" _Fitz_ ," she whimpers quietly, weakly trying to pull him closer.

There are times when Liv desperately wants space after a nightmare, and times when she clings to him. He tends to err on the side of caution, giving her a little breathing room until she tells him, in her own way, what she needs. He slides closer to her and starts to rub her back again, resting his lips against her shoulder. She's just now starting to _really_ pull herself out of it, and the dream must have been horrible because he's only seen her react physically like this once before. Liv picks her head up and looks around, squinting in the bright light, her eyes finally landing on him. She lets go of his hand and starts to touch him, running her fingers over his chest, his arms, his neck, almost like she's checking him over. His stomach drops because he can guess what had happened in her dream, and he catches her hand, guiding it up to his face, laying her palm against his cheek.

Fitz doesn't need to comfort her with words in this moment, he can see every emotion develop in her eyes as she strokes his face and then switches their position, taking his hand and bringing it to her own cheek. Her eyes close in relief as she nuzzles his warm palm and they sit like that, on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, until she takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, moving to stand up.

"Here, I'll do it," Fitz rasps, breaking the silence, helping her sit on the closed toilet lid.

He wets her toothbrush and squeezes a glob of toothpaste onto it, handing it to her. As she takes it gratefully and starts to brush, he kisses her forehead and leaves her alone for a few minutes, again getting a non-verbal _okay_ from her.

He's already back under the covers when she comes out a few minutes later, propped up against the headboard of her bed. She crawls in with him, pressing a soft, minty, ' _I love you_ ' kiss to his mouth before she cuddles up against his chest. It's unbeknownst to her that he has a nickname for those kisses, but he knows they're one of the ways that she shows him how she feels when she can't say it, especially in moments like this.

"Want to tell me?" he murmurs quietly, pulling the covers around her and holding her close.

She doesn't, he already knows, but he asks anyway. Sure enough, she shakes her head against his chest, pressing even closer but staying quiet.

"Try to sleep," he whispers, "I've got you."

* * *

The next morning, a Saturday, dawns appropriately gray and rainy. They've dozed on and off since her nightmare, but neither of them had gotten any real sleep after. Rain is pelting the windows when Olivia finally moves from her position against his chest around seven o'clock, wrapping herself up in his bathrobe and padding out to the kitchen.

He's vaguely aware that she's moved but he doesn't really wake up until he hears the kettle whistling, mugs clinking softly to indicate she's making their morning beverages. When she comes back to hand him his coffee, pausing to kiss him good morning, he catches a whiff of her lavender tea. It's the tea she makes when she's feeling anxious or upset, and he watches her inhale the steam slowly and deeply before she takes a sip, settling onto the bed next to him. There are dark smudges beneath her eyes and she's still a little pale.

"I don't know why I bother bringing that thing, I don't even get to wear it," he jokes softly, pulling at the sleeve of his robe.

"Smells like you," she murmurs by way of explanation, a small smile gracing her lips as she tucks the robe closer around her body.

They're quiet for a while, sipping, listening to the rain.

"How long?"

She's a deer caught in the headlights when she looks at him. His question shouldn't be surprising, he's not one to shy away from talking about things. But her default mode is still avoidance, it's what she knows, it's what she's comfortable with and what she says next comes out before she can re-think.

"What do you mean?"

He furrows his brows, giving her a tired, confused look that indicates he thought they were past this.

"Please don't," he sighs, "I know you. I know last night wasn't an isolated incident. I know you don't have nightmares like that out of nowhere, so, how long, Liv?"

She mentally scolds herself for trying to dance around the issue.

"About a month. Since right after I came back from Colorado the last time," she admits in a small voice, staring down into her cup.

There's a pause while he does the same, the dark liquid reflecting his face back at him.

"You didn't tell me it was bad again. You didn't tell me," Fitz says quietly.

"I didn't tell you," she echoes, angry with herself, and almost _embarrassed_ that she's kept something this big from him for so long.

Clearing her throat, she swallows thickly.

"Right after I came back from Colorado, we had a client pull a gun on us. No one was hurt, nothing happened but…I froze. It triggered me. Since then…"

She trails off, letting him fill in the blanks. He looks away from her, shaking his head slowly.

"For you to keep something like that from me, it hurts. It _hurts_ , and it makes me feel like you don't want to let me in, like you don't _want_ to confide in me," he says, his eyes sad and helpless.

"I _do_ , though. I want to," she tries to reassure him, eyes filling with tears.

"Then why don't you, Liv?"

She doesn't have an answer for that question, and before she can stop herself she's on the defensive again. She knows it's a weak argument before she even says it, and she's not even sure why it comes out.

"You don't need to know everything, I shouldn't have to tell you every little detail of—"

"You don't, you're right, but this isn't a little detail and I think you know that," he states calmly, pausing to think before he speaks again, "This is how it starts, with you keeping something like this from me."

Those words scare her as they hang in the air between them.

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" he asks, setting his coffee on the nightstand, "Secrets have destroyed us every time, they're poison to our relationship. You know that, and you're still keeping things from me."

The night has left her feeling vulnerable and raw. He looks so frustrated with her, and she really can't stomach the idea of him leaving right now. She's desperately trying to communicate with him but she can barely get the words out.

"I just—last night was…intense, and I'm still—I really need to be with you today—"

His eyes soften immediately at her admission, at the realization that she's afraid he's going to leave. She's looking at him with those lost little girl eyes, the ones that break his heart and remind him that she needs his patience, that they're still working on this, that she's doing the best she can with what she's been given.

"Livvie, I'm not going anywhere," he reassures her softly, "Just because I'm frustrated and we're having a discussion—I'm not leaving."

He can see her shutting down emotionally, the strain of their conversation combined with last night wearing on her.

"C'mere," he murmurs, pulling her back into his arms.

She clings to him, practically crawling into his lap in an effort to be as close to him as possible, relief flooding her body. He holds her securely for a few minutes, until her muscles relax and she's breathing more evenly.

"You can't live like this. No one should, and you don't have to," he admonishes gently, and she knows exactly what he's referring to.

"Talking about it makes it real," she admits softly.

"Mmm hmm," he agrees, "Don't you think, in the end, it would be worth it?"

Olivia doesn't say anything, mulling his words over silently.

"Don't give up on me, okay?"

His heart squeezes painfully in his chest at her request and he tilts her chin up, making her look right into his eyes.

"Never, do you hear me? _Never_."

* * *

 **4 Days Later…**

The office is warm and welcoming, decorated in neutral tones, decorative plants and throw pillows adding character to the space. Olivia chooses a chair instead of the sofa, clichés about lying on a therapists couch running through her mind. She's hoping her face doesn't reveal the torrent of nerves coursing through her body as she settles in, trying to slow her heartbeat, discretely wiping sweaty palms across her pants. The woman sitting across from her is serene, calm, annoyingly composed.

"Why don't you tell me why you're here, Olivia?"

 _Because I'm so fucked up I don't even know how to begin to answer that question?_

"I don't know, to be honest. My—the man in my life, he's really been wanting me to seek out a therapist, so, I guess I'm here because of him? I don't know how to do this, I don't know if I'm even comfortable doing this."

Dr. Catherine Miller narrows her eyes slightly at the woman sitting before her, making a decision informed by twenty-seven years of clinical practice.

 _This one's gonna require a little tough love, I think_

"Then unfortunately, Olivia, I don't think we'll be able to work together," she says with finality, flipping the pages of her notepad closed and capping her pen.

Olivia's face falls slightly, a little taken aback by the therapist's snap judgment.

"Why?" she asks hesitantly.

Catherine takes a deep breath and leans forward in her chair as if she's about to share a secret. Her eyes become serious, and when she makes eye contact with Liv, it really feels as though she's speaking from the heart.

"You can't do this for anyone else. Therapy is deeply personal, it's difficult, and it's painful sometimes. It can be an immensely rewarding process, but unless you're truly here because you _want_ to be here, because _you_ want to explore something within yourself, I'm not sure I'll be able to help you."

With that, she gets up from her chair and walks back to her desk, waking up her computer and grabbing a spray bottle.

Olivia sits in stunned silence, watching the therapist start to water plants.

"You—you actually do that? Just reject clients like that? I've already paid for the session."

"I'm happy to refund your payment, I'm not in the business of making money, I'm in the business of helping people," Catherine answers nonchalantly, examining the waxy leaves of a cactus over the rim of her glasses, deciding it doesn't need watering at just this moment.

Immediately, it's abundantly clear to Olivia that this woman has no interest in entertaining false starts. She's seen right through Liv's firewall in less than five minutes, determined that she isn't being truthful, and has called her out on it. The terrifying truth of what she's about to do settles over her and, as she sits in silence, she realizes the only thing left to do is be honest. She's resigned herself to getting help, to _wanting_ help, but she's going to need to actually be honest in order to make that happen.

"I—"

Catherine stops watering plants and comes over, standing behind her chair. Suddenly, for just a moment, Olivia makes eye contact with her and there's a flash of vulnerability, a flash of truth. She comes around and sinks down into the chair, leaning back casually while the younger woman collects her words.

"I keep—I keep hurting him, this wonderful man who loves me. And I don't want to do that anymore. I don't know how to stop hurting him, and—I—I want to stop. I need help."

Catherine leans forward, an easy smile on her face.

" _That's_ more like it."


	11. Chapter 10

**August 2019 - Dillon, Colorado**

"Fuck, Liv… _fuck_ …"

Her head bobs slowly in his lap, several inches of his cock disappearing into her mouth on each downstroke. She moans softly, closing her lips around the head and sucking with gentle pressure, using her tongue to press down on the very tip of him. His hips fidget restlessly, hands clenched in the bedding as he tries to lie still and let her pleasure him, but her pace is so torturously slow that he's having a hard time.

This most recent separation seems to have taken more of a toll on her than the others they've endured lately. She'd gotten to the house around seven in the evening and dragged him upstairs, kissing him heatedly and announcing in no uncertain terms that she wanted him in her mouth.

" _Baby…_ "

Fitz has always been hesitant to let her go down on him, despite how much he clearly enjoys it. Rather than try to coax him into it, she's taken to _telling_ him it's happening, that she wants it, _showing_ him how much she enjoys reciprocating his generous tendency to go down on _her_. And she does, she loves having him in her mouth.

Wrapping one hand around the base of his shaft, she lets her lips meet the tops of her fingers and starts to bob her head again, slowly, rhythmically, her grip firm and sure.

"Fuck, just like that…"

One of his hands slides between her shoulder blades, resting lightly on the back of her neck. His moans take on a certain edge when her mouth is on him, and she loves that, she loves knowing how good she's making him feel. He curses a lot more too, which is such a huge turn on that she can't resist reaching a hand between her own thighs, spreading slippery moisture over her clit and rubbing a few firm circles. The pressure makes her whimper around him and he curses again, letting his hips flex up.

She takes a little break, continuing to work him with her hand but using her lips to press kisses over his hips, his firm lower abs, stimulating as much of the tender, sensitive skin below his belly button as she can. He pulls in a few deep, panting breaths, carefully running a hand through her hair, watching her with dark, hooded eyes. She catches him watching her and gives him a slow smile, refocusing and running her tongue over his length, making him moan for her.

Her mouth is wicked, tongue sliding firmly over the thick vein on the underside, engulfing the head of his cock and gently teasing his frenulum. He hisses when she moves over his sac, delicately stroking with her tongue, sucking one side and then the other into her mouth.

" _Livvie…shit, baby…_ "

He momentarily loses restraint when she goes back to that slow, rhythmic motion with her lips and hand, thrusting his hips up into her mouth. She moves with him, encouraging him to do what feels good, making him pant and groan.

" _Fuck_ , Liv, stop… _stop_ ," he pleads, "Want to be inside you."

She eases up, gently pulling off of him and kissing her way up his chest. Rising up on her knees over him, she braces one hand on his chest and trails the other down over her flat belly, two fingers sliding into her folds to rub her clit.

He's not sure what's gotten into her tonight but he's not complaining, cupping her hips with his hands, watching her head tip back when she slips both fingers inside herself. She's wanton, lost in her pleasure, and he lets her ride her own fingers for a moment before he gently takes her wrist, bringing her hand to his mouth. He's so hard he's aching, and tasting her only heightens his arousal, especially the way her lips part as she watches him do it.

She lies down on top of him, whimpering and rolling their hips together, kissing him breathlessly. His hands trace the length of her body, smoothing down her sides and cupping her ass, lingering there to squeeze and press her down harder.

"Need you," Liv gasps into his mouth.

He hums low in his throat and rolls them over, putting her on her back, coaxing her to wrap her legs around his waist. Teasing her mouth open, he slides his tongue between her lips and his cock into her folds at the same time, drawing the most delicious moan from her chest. Her hands are tangled in his hair as he rocks forward, pressing deeper until he's all the way inside, groaning into her mouth.

Whether she meant to or not, she's brought a slow, intense energy into their bed tonight, an energy he intends to maintain. She's fighting him on it now, but he can tell she needs the slow pace, that her body is asking him for it even if her mind isn't.

It's rare, but Liv occasionally has a hard time shaking other thoughts from her brain while they're making love, and it manifests as this frenetic want, this desire to speed things up once he's inside her, too much thinking and not enough feeling. It's subtle, but after all this time he recognizes it easily, and he always makes an effort to help her let go. The times that she can't fully connect with him during sex are generally the times when she needs to connect with him the _most_.

He nuzzles his face into her neck, sucking kisses over her jaw, growling softly when she drags her nails down his back. His hips still aren't really moving, just little rocking presses into her.

"Move, Fitz, please," she breathes, trying to thrust her hips up.

"Mmm-mmm, my turn. I can do slow, too," he murmurs, gently pressing more of his weight on to her, pinning her hips down.

He settles into a deep, slow rhythm, his hips rolling and rocking into her rather than thrusting. The angle is perfect for a slow fuck, and he can tell he's hitting all of her spots, yet she's writhing impatiently beneath him, almost begging him to take her harder, faster.

She arches her neck and gasps as his teeth nip sharply. "Fitz, _faster_."

"Shh, relax, I'm gonna get you there," he whispers, sliding his palms to clasp her hands, lacing their fingers together and bringing her arms up over her head.

Now having pinned her down from nearly every angle, he stops moving again, letting his forehead rest lightly against hers. He waits for her eyes to flutter open and connects with her in a kiss, sucking on her bottom lip, moaning when her tongue strokes into his mouth.

Maintaining eye contact with her, he starts rocking again, watching her brows furrow in pleasure, listening to her breaths slow down and deepen, waiting for the moment when—

It's almost like watching a veil drop when her face falls open, when she looks at him and _sees_ him, lets him see her.

"There you are," he murmurs, taking some weight off of her so she can arch her back, " _Hi_."

Her eyes flick back and forth between his, realizing he knows her mind has been racing all night. Slowly, she focuses on his face, on the way he feels inside her, letting everything else melt away.

" _Hi._ "

She whimpers softly, pushing to free her hands so that she can cup his face, bringing him down into another series of kisses.

"I need to come," she moans, " _Fitz_."

"I know," he soothes, " _Let me_. Relax."

He doesn't change his rhythm, he's still moving deep and slow, but now she's letting him set the pace. She closes her eyes and wraps her arms around his neck, bringing his face down next to hers, moaning into his ear, panting against his temple. Finally, _finally_ , she feels the pleasure start to take over and sweep her away, the way he's curved so perfectly inside her, his body resting on hers so that he's sliding over her clit with every stroke.

It's a different kind of build when they make love like this. It's a slow, deliberate climb that feels less like fireworks and more like _fire_ , burning hotter and hotter until the flames consume them.

Olivia gasps, running her hands down to his low back and pressing her short nails into the smooth skin.

"So close— _oh_ — _don't stop_."

"Not stopping, _never_ , _never_ , _never_."

It _feels_ like she's coming for several thrusts before she actually does. Everything is throbbing with sensitivity, and it makes her cry out and pull his hair, legs squeezing around his hips. Her orgasm breaks over her like a wave, intensifying everything she's already feeling, her muscles gripping him hard over and over.

He's been on the edge for so long that just listening to her sob, and moan, and gasp through her release is enough to make him come with a long groan, grinding his hips into her. Releasing the burn in his belly feels incredible, and combined with the feeling of her walls clasping around him...everything goes white for a few seconds.

They take a long time to come down, both having had the kind of orgasm that leaves a person feeling completely sated, boneless with relief.

He slides down a bit and nuzzles her chest, pressing soft kisses to her breasts while her fingers stroke through his hair. Sighing in contentment, she guides him to lay his head on her chest, holding him for long minutes while they finish catching their breath.

Eventually, Fitz rolls off of her, moving back up to share her pillow, arranging the sheet over them and pulling her so close that their noses almost touch.

" _That_ was fun," he smiles, his words having the desired effect, making her smile back at him.

She presses closer and lays her palm over his cheek, thumb briefly tracing his bottom lip.

"I needed that," she murmurs, kissing him gently.

When they break apart, he meets her gaze with soft eyes and doesn't look away, telling her without words that he knows there's more going on. She's the first to break their eye contact, and she scoots down the bed so she can tuck herself beneath his chin, hiding her face in his chest. He wraps her up, holding her, pressing his lips to her hair.

"My appointment today was hard," she sighs, voice muffled against his chest.

That's different. Normally he'd have to press at least a little bit, but she's shared an explanation with him all on her own. He waits quietly, giving her the space to keep talking.

"I want to tell you," she murmurs, "But can we—tomorrow? Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

He coaxes her up to face him again. "We don't have to talk about it at all, if you don't want to. What you talk about in therapy is yours, you know I'm okay with that. I'm just glad you told me what's got you distracted, thank you."

She absently runs her index finger over his lips, smiling when he puckers them into a kiss.

"Well, Catherine pointed out the other day my tendency to keep almost everything to myself; thoughts, feelings, questions," she admits, softly.

"Did you realize that you do that?" he asks, genuinely curious.

Liv considers his question for a moment. "I guess so, to a point. I didn't realize the extent of it. And I didn't realize how much better it feels to let things out sometimes."

He chooses his next words carefully, stroking one hand down her arm. "I don't want this to come out patronizing, but I am so _proud_ of you."

His words don't feel patronizing at all, instead they make her feel warm all over.

"Really?"

" _Yes_. What you're doing is so difficult, and uncomfortable, but you're doing it, and you're sticking with it."

"Thank you," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his mouth, "It's not easy, you're right. But I want—I need to do my part to make this work, to make us work. It's for us just as much as it's for myself. I don't ever want to lose you again."

"You're not going to lose me, don't ever worry about that," he reassures her softly, "And I love hearing what you're thinking about. I've spent so much time wondering, and every time you tell me…just know that I appreciate how hard it is for you."

She nods, returning his soft smile, sighing as he pulls her into a series of kisses.

"So since we're doing all of this talking, can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything," he murmurs.

"Do you like when I go down on you?"

He blinks at her, brows furrowing, the question not at all what he was expecting.

" _What_?"

"Do you like it?"

"Livvie, of course I do. You _know_ I do, I love it. Uh—I mean, do I not seem like I'm enjoying it?"

She smiles a little awkwardly and shakes her head. "No, I—you do, I know you love it. Just—I guess what I really mean to say is, you never ask me for it. Why?"

Fitz rolls to his back, staring at the ceiling, and she props her head up with her hand, watching him carefully.

"I just—I don't know, I never want you to feel like you _have_ to do it."

"But you know I love to do it, I love making you feel good, you've known that since we first started having sex."

"Geez, Liv, I figured I was just being a gentleman. I don't think there's a lot of guys out there demanding head."

"You'd be surprised," she says flatly, raising her eyebrows at him, pressing on carefully, "And I'm not talking about you "demanding head", there've been times that I've tried to go down on you and you physically stop me. It's more than what you're saying. I just want to know why."

He sighs and gets quiet for a moment, still staring upward until she puts gentle fingers around his chin and makes him look at her.

"I guess I don't have great feelings, mentally, surrounding that particular act."

"Tell me why," she requests, softly.

"Well, I've never been with anyone who really _wanted_ to do it, first of all. So, that's a foreign concept to me, the fact that you enjoy it. And…I really—don't hate me, when I tell you this, okay?"

"Never."

"When Mellie and I stopped having sex—"

He pauses to make sure she's okay to hear this, and she's un-phased, listening intently.

"—she'd do it, sometimes, I guess because she figured it made up for the lack of intimacy somehow, which it didn't. After a while, I stopped letting her because I couldn't even enjoy it anymore, knowing she wouldn't let me reciprocate and I still had no idea why, at that point. And then years later, years of no physical contact whatsoever, we were having a fight, I mean, a knock-down, drag-out, screaming match. I threw it in her face that because of her I hadn't had sex in six years, and I said—"

Even now, his face colors in embarrassment, and he looks away from her.

"—I said that at this point one of her shitty blowjobs would be better than nothing."

Olivia closes her eyes, wincing internally, because it _was_ a terrible thing to say, and she knows how he must have felt after he said it.

"As soon as I said it I regretted it, and her face…we'd said horrible things to each other up to that point, but not anything like that. She—I made her cry, and knowing what I know now—"

"You didn't know that then, though," Liv interrupts, speaking for the first time.

He doesn't say anything in return, and she fits herself into his arms, leaning on his chest. He takes a breath, cautiously flicking his eyes toward her face. "You don't think—you don't think I'm horrible for saying that?"

"It was a terrible thing to say, but do I think it makes you a terrible person? _Absolutely not_. Fitz, you said that in anger," she says quietly, gently scratching her fingers through the hair on his jaw, "And you had no idea what she was going through, because she hadn't shared that with you yet."

His arm comes up around her back, sliding over her soft, bare skin, and he finally makes eye contact with her again.

"The fact that you're still beating yourself up over it, what, fifteen years later? That says more about who you are than something you said so long ago," she continues.

"I've just always felt like such an ass for letting the lack of sex make me so crazy," he admits.

"That wasn't it at all, though. On a biological level, I'm sure it was difficult because you're such a sexual person, but it's the intimacy that you crave more than anything else. I think that's what was killing you, you hadn't _connected_ with anyone in so long."

"Until I met you," he breathes, eyes mapping her face.

She smiles at him, pressing closer. "Until you met me."

"When did you get to be such a relationship expert?"

"Well I don't know if you've heard," she sighs, laying her head down on his chest, "But I've been having my head shrunk twice a week."

Fitz chuckles quietly, reaching down to kiss the top of her head.

"So, how do we keep all of that out of our bed?" she muses, "I don't want anything like that between us, because it has nothing to do with how I feel about you, or how you should feel about what we do. I want you to be able to enjoy _everything_ , just like I do."

He sighs, "I think it's just something that will take time. Talking about it has helped already, because to be honest I wasn't one hundred percent sure where you stood on, um—"

"Giving head?" she finishes, laughing, "Maybe we should start there, you should at least be able to say the words."

"I can say it!" he says indignantly, although his smile betrays him, "It just feels weird to me still, saying it to you like that. There are a lot of years of negative thoughts attached to this, it might take me a little while to remember that you want to do it for the right reasons."

"Well, I'll go on record right now," she murmurs, climbing over him again, "And say that I love putting my mouth on you, I love making you feel good, and I want you to let me do it more often."

"Okay," he rasps, smoothing his hands up and down her back as she starts pressing warm, soft kisses over his neck.

"I mean, we've been making love for over ten years and we've never tried to sixty-nine, I feel like we might be missing out."

He swallows thickly as all the blood rushes out of his brain, his cock automatically starting to fill at the tone of her voice, the mental image she's just provided.

"I—um—is that—that's something you want to do?"

"Mmm-hmm," she hums, pulling back to nuzzle her nose against his, feeling his labored breathing against her mouth, "Soon. Been thinking about it."

He groans when, instead of kissing his lips, she trails kisses across his cheek and back to his ear. She blows cool air over it, sucking the sensitive lobe into her warm mouth and biting gently, making his hips flex up against her.

" _Fuck_ ," she whimpers, "I want you again."

He easily flips her on to her back, sliding down her body.

"Since we're all about reciprocity," he murmurs, her thighs falling open wider as he kisses over her belly, "I think it's your turn."

* * *

 **4 Days Later - Washington, D.C.**

"Olivia? Olivia?"

Liv startles, giving her attention back to Catherine, the office coming back into focus around her.

"Sorry," she mumbles, "What were you saying?"

"I was asking about—you know what, never mind," Catherine sighs, "Where are you today, Liv?"

Olivia buries her face in her hands for a moment. "I don't know, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," Catherine says, gently, "And you do know. Whatever it is, we can talk about it, if you want."

Catherine sets her notebook aside, flipping the pages of notes on Olivia's PTSD progress closed. Liv is melancholy today, an emotion she hasn't really seen from her yet. Angry, fearful, distant, those are all moods she's used to fielding from Olivia, but this blue mood, which seems to have settled into her very soul, is new. She gives the younger woman a few minutes of silence, something she's noticed Olivia sometimes requires in order to put something into words.

"Do you want to tell me?" she asks gently after a while, settling back into her chair.

Olivia takes a breath, suddenly trying to keep tears at bay.

"I miss Fitz," she shrugs, simply.

Catherine tries not to sigh in relief, having feared something much harder to talk about than this, although she can tell there's a bit more to the story.

"That's only natural, long-distance relationships can be difficult in that way," Catherine starts, carefully.

"It's getting harder and harder to say goodbye to him, that's all," Liv sighs, faking a smile, wiping at a rogue tear.

"Mmm," Catherine hums, eyes narrowing imperceptibly, "What else?"

' _What else'_ , is Catherine's way of telling Liv that she's full of shit, and she knows it. _'What else'_ , means _'I know there's more'_. Pretty quickly, Olivia had realized that not much gets past this woman, but she also knows Catherine won't ever make her talk about something she's not ready to discuss.

"Take your time," Catherine prompts, able to see Olivia's mind racing.

Liv nods, shifting in her chair the way she does when she knows she needs to talk something out, even though it's still an uncomfortable process.

"Lately, I…I've just been feeling like these little trips aren't enough."

"How often do you normally see one another?" Catherine asks, conversationally.

"Usually every three weeks or so, although sometimes we've gone longer, and for three or four days at a time."

"Well, its perfectly normal to want to spend more time with the person you love, three or four days a month isn't very much at all."

Olivia folds her legs beneath herself, sighing. "I mean, I don't feel disconnected from him, we talk every night, it's just…"

"It's just what?"

"I want to see him more."

Catherine smiles inwardly, proud of Olivia's ' _I want_ ' statement. It's been difficult to pull those out of her thus far, and this one felt very natural.

"Do you think he feels the same way?"

Olivia settles back into the chair, her body language starting to relax. "I don't know. If he did he wouldn't say anything to me, I think he's still walking on eggshells a little bit when it comes to asking me about things like that."

"Because you've run away from him in the past?"

"He doesn't want to spook me," Olivia says, wryly, "I've let him down too many times."

"Hey," Catherine interrupts, softly, "No one's perfect, we all struggle, we all have demons."

She prefers to nip Liv's tendency to self-deprecate in the bud, not seeing anything productive about it now that she's acknowledged her weaknesses. Early on she'd recognized that while Olivia needs tough love from time to time, what she needs more than anything else is emotional support, something she hasn't allowed herself to accept in a very long time.

"So, if you know that you need to be the one to start the conversation, why haven't you?"

Olivia hesitates and Catherine folds her hands, keeping her posture casual. The hesitation tells her they're getting into the crux of the issue.

"Are you afraid he'll say he doesn't want to see you more?"

"No," Liv answers, immediately.

"Do you think it's too soon to talk about seeing each other more?"

"No," she sighs, tipping her head back against her chair.

Catherine switches tracks, trying a different train of thought. "Why do you want to see him more?"

Liv looks a little confused, brows furrowing. "I—I miss him, I said that already."

"What do you miss about him, about your time together?" Catherine presses, smiling softly.

"I mean… _everything_ ," she admits quietly, not fully understanding where this is going but having learned to trust the process, "I just like being with him, I like talking to him about nothing, while we're cooking, or hiking, anything we do. We're best friends, he's my _best friend_ , we have so much fun when we're together. And I miss…the physicality of sharing our space, I love that. Not just the sex, although don't get me wrong, three or four times a month is nowhere near enough. We have a pretty physical relationship in general, we've always been very, um, in sync, is the best way to describe it. I just gravitate toward him in a way I can't control. No matter what we're doing, we're usually touching somehow. So I miss that, sleeping in the same bed, sitting on the couch with him, holding hands when we walk the dogs, all of it."

Saying the right thing to get Olivia talking tends to reveal a treasure trove of information, a much-needed glimpse into her psyche that Catherine desperately needs in order to know how to help her.

"Olivia, what you're describing is domesticity, and it's a very natural thing to want with the person you care very deeply for. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem like you want to spend quite a bit more time together, not just an extra few days, is that what you want? What does 'more time' look like, in your mind?"

Liv reflects for a moment, not really having gotten as far as what 'more time' means.

"I want—I want to be with him, in Colorado. Whenever I'm out there, I never want to leave, and sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I just…moved out there, for a little while."

Catherine can tell that Olivia hasn't really let herself think those words yet, let alone said them out loud, because she looks terrified all of a sudden.

"Why is that scary?" Catherine asks, gently.

She doesn't answer right away, staring down at her hands.

"I feel like I shouldn't want that," Olivia whispers, "I've fought so hard to stand on my own, to not rely on anyone, to not let anyone else define my happiness."

"Have you ever truly felt happy though?" Catherine asks, "From where I'm sitting your life has been defined by work, and by relationships with men that you _almost_ loved, not by happiness. Are you happy being away from Fitz?"

Olivia looks up, an internal battle between her thoughts and Catherine's words raging. "No, I'm not happy being away from him, but I feel like I _should_ be able to be. And I'm afraid that—"

She stops, taking a second to process this new thought. Again, Catherine can tell they're getting somewhere, that she's realizing things she hadn't thought about before.

"I'm afraid that I'll lose myself again. Like I did in the White House," she admits, eyes filled with tears.

"That right there, is why you haven't acted on your feelings. You're not afraid of what Fitz's reaction will be, you're afraid of what this might mean for _you_."

"And what it might mean for _us_! The last time we lived together for an extended period of time we _both_ got lost! It destroyed us."

Catherine leans forward in her chair. "Olivia, are there any similarities at all between the two situations? The one you were in then and the one you're in now?"

Again, Liv takes a moment to think, going back to their time in the White House.

"Not really," she admits, slowly, trying to see things from the perspective Catherine's given her.

"Before, no one asked you if it was alright to move your things into the White House. Fitz never asked you if you were ready."

"That's true, and we've talked about that."

"This time, you're talking about moving in with him, even temporarily, completely of your own volition. And for the _right reasons_. Can you see the difference there?"

Olivia nods, turning Catherine's words over in her mind.

"There's also a lot less outside stress in your current situation. You were both under a lot of scrutiny several years ago, am I right to say that?"

"Yes," Liv agrees, taking a deep breath, "And we're in a much better place in our relationship than we were then. We talk more, our communication is _so_ much better."

"Right. See? It's not really fair to compare yourself, or Fitz for that matter, to the people you were and the relationship you had back then."

"I understand all of that, and actually, it makes a lot of sense—"

"Good—"

"—so why do I still feel terrified? I didn't feel this terrified when I thought about moving in with Edison."

"Did you love Edison the way you love Fitz?"

"Of course not," Liv whispers, fiercely.

Catherine smiles, sighing. "That's why. You didn't really have anything to lose before, and now you do. Being truly in love can be a terrifying thing, it's just part of the package."

"So, how can I—how do I get past it?"

"I think you have to ask yourself if going after what you really want is worth the risk, if it's worth facing the fear. Is moving in with Fitz what you really want?"

"Yes," Liv says, quietly, but with certainty.

Catherine sits back and nods definitively. "Then there's your answer."

* * *

The following night, they're on the phone, lying in their respective beds, eighteen hundred miles apart.

"I want to talk to you about something."

"Uh-oh," Fitz teases.

She smiles on the other end of the line. "It's nothing bad. It's—I miss you."

"I miss you too, Livvie," he answers without hesitation.

The line is quiet for a few seconds.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Oh, were you—did you want to have phone sex?"

Olivia bursts into laughter, releasing an enormous amount of tension.

"No," she giggles, "Not that I—I mean we can do that too, if you want."

"Alright, well, that was my only guess so you're gonna have to help me out."

She takes a deep breath. "What do you think about me coming out there for a while?"

"I think," he says slowly, "That you were just here so it's my turn, I should come to you next. But you're coming back in three weeks, right? To see Teddy while he's here?"

She's confused him, and she realizes she needs to be more direct.

"No I—yes that was my plan, but I meant…how would you feel about—what if I came out sooner than that? What if I, um, moved in, for a while?"

The line goes quiet again, and she can tell he's trying to figure out if he's heard her correctly.

"Liv, you're always welcome here, you know that. What do you mean by 'a while'?"

"I mean at least a month, maybe longer. What I said before— _I miss you_ , every day, I hate being away from you."

"I hate being away from you too, and—a month? Really? How do I feel about that? I would _love_ that," he breathes, sitting up in bed.

Relief washes over her at his response, even though she knows her nerves were mostly unwarranted. There'd still been a tiny part of her that worried he'd have reservations about the idea.

"Are you sure, though?" he asks her incredulously, "Because we should compromise on this, you don't have to be the one to be away from home, we can trade off, I can come to D.C. more often—"

"Fitz," she interrupts, "I'm sure. D.C. feels a lot less like home, and I—I want to be in Colorado. The house, it feels more and more like _our_ house, and the dogs…I just want to be out there."

"It does feel like our house," he agrees softly, "When you're not here with me, it's empty now, I hate it."

He aches to have her with him, right now, all the time.

"Liv," he starts, softly, "Are you _really_ sure? I don't want you to feel pressured to start spending more time out here, I want you to feel ready."

"I don't feel pressured, and I promise, I'm sure. I've been feeling this way for a while, it's not something I decided tonight. I want—I want the little things, with you. We've never had that before, the day in, day out, _normal_ things. That's one of the reasons I want to come out there. Out there, we're just…us. Nobody bothers us, we don't have to worry about photographers following us to the grocery store, we can just _be_. I want that for us."

"I want that for us too," he breathes, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

Suddenly it all feels very urgent, as soon as it's agreed upon. She just wants to be out there with him _now_.

"When are you comi—"

"When should I come?"

They speak at the same time and then laugh at themselves, both caught up in the excitement of what they've just decided.

"I need a few days at work, to explain what's happening, that I'll need to remote in for a while," she explains.

"Take all the time you need, we'll be here," he says, referring to himself and the dogs.

"I need to pack a whole bunch of stuff, too. Can you—what clothes do I even have out there? I've been back and forth so many times I can't remember, will you go in the closet right now and look for me?"

"Sure."

She can hear him climb out of bed and open the walk-in closet, flipping the light on.

"Okay, so there's a bunch of those black tights that you wear when we go hiking."

"Got it," she confirms, pulling up a document on her computer to make a list.

"There's a blue sweater, and—"

"Wait, which blue sweater?"

"What do you mean?"

"What does it look like? What kind of blue?"

He's silent for a few seconds.

"It's uh—dark blue?"

"Well, is it more navy or cerulean?"

"What's cerulean?"

"Never mind, this could go on all night," she giggles, "You know what, why don't you just take a picture of my side and send it to me, that'll be easier."

"Wait, what the hell is this?"

"What?"

"It looks like a bathing suit, but it's made of the same material as those tights, and it's got all these strings…"

"It's for yoga," she laughs, "I brought it last time and then didn't use it."

"Woah, this thing is crazy too, it looks like a shirt and a skirt but it's one piece—"

"Get away from my clothes!" she scolds, still laughing.

He puts their conversation on speaker long enough to take a couple of pictures and text them to her, complaining good-naturedly about how much closet space she's going to need.

"I'm just saying, there are only five other closets on the second floor, try not to fill them all," he teases, climbing back into bed.

Their laughter tapers off and the line goes quiet again, both of them sitting in the comfortable silence.

"So, you're thinking…a week?"

"Five days if I can swing it. Fitz, I'm just ready, I don't want to be away from you anymore."

Now that they've talked about it she's really settled in to the idea, she's _owning_ it. It feels _right_.

"I can't wait for you to be here," he murmurs, taking a breath, "Okay, so, five days?"

"Five days."

* * *

 **A/N: Hello there! Long time no see! Bigger gap between updates this time, I was writing a couple other things (I have a series of Olitz one-shots going if you're interested in those!) and honestly had a bit of writer's block on this chapter. But, like many of us this week I'm sure, my problems were solved by Beyonce. So, now we've got Liv in Colorado for at least a month, and some fun times with Teddy in the next chapter. As always, thank you so much for reading and let me know what you think!**


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: A bit of a shorter chapter, but I really wanted to get this up for you guys because it's been FOREVER.**

* * *

 **August 2019 – Dillon, Colorado**

 **5 Days Later…**

"It is _hot_ today," she comments as the automatic doors close behind them, cutting them off from the air-conditioned baggage claim.

"It's always hot down here in August," Ben agrees, "It's cooler in Dillon, because of the elevation."

"That's true, I think we had the windows open almost—"

Her breath catches in surprise when she sees Fitz leaning against the secret service SUV, grinning as he chats with David, another of his regular agents.

"He didn't tell you he was coming, did he?"

"No," she breathes, her smile growing by the second, her steps quickening.

He looks better than anyone has a right to, the picture of a hot summer day. The way his arms are crossed puts the strong curves of his biceps on display, the sleeves of his plain white tee shirt flush against his skin. He's been keeping his facial hair shorter lately, salt and pepper dusted over his jawline, and the sun reflects off of his aviators as he turns his head.

He directs his smile at her, and he's just _devastating_. Her whole body reacts to him, a stab of want hitting low in her hips, butterflies making her stomach flip, warmth spreading through her chest.

Ben takes the large suitcase she's been rolling, startling her out of her reverie.

"Go ahead," he smiles, gently.

She's been missing Fitz _so much_ over the last few days that she doesn't think twice about running to him, quickly looking both ways as she crosses each pick-up lane. She doesn't care who's watching, who might have a cell phone camera out, how ridiculous she looks jogging across the outside of the airport, she just goes to him.

He catches her easily, chuckling and taking a step backward when she collides with him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Humming contentedly, he buries his face in her hair and takes a long slow inhale, lifting her off the ground, spinning in a slow circle.

"You smell so good," she whispers after a moment, carding her fingers through his hair, "Were you outside this morning?"

Fitz has never understood why she thinks he smells so good after a few hours of work outside, but he indulges her anyway.

"Took the dogs on a hike," he confirms, giving her a squeeze, "They were driving me nuts, extra energy for some reason."

Pulling her face away from his neck, she smiles at him as he sets her back on her feet. "You didn't have to come all this way to pick me up."

"I actually wanted to come in and meet you at the gate, but we compromised," he explains, nodding to Ben and David, who are loading her bags into the trunk of the SUV.

Her hands slide up to cradle his jaw, holding him where she wants him while she presses a soft, slow kiss to his mouth.

"You're here," he murmurs against her lips.

Sighing, she wraps her arms around his chest, needing to feel him up against her.

"I'm here."

* * *

 **That Night…**

She always feels gross after she's been on a plane, even in first class, and after his hike he needs a shower anyway. It's just the practical thing to do, showering together as soon as they get home, and when they happen to indulge in mid-afternoon shower sex it's because, after nearly two weeks apart, how can they possibly be expected to control themselves?

Fitz makes her pasta from scratch for dinner, which she's declared is her favorite thing he's learned how to make so far, keeping it simple with freshly roasted cherry tomatoes, garden spinach, and garlic. They soak up the buttery white wine sauce with warm bread, and even if she ends up gaining ten pounds living here with him she knows that every delicious bite, every evening walk, and every quiet moment in his arms will make those ten pounds more than worth it.

He won't let her do any dishes tonight, and when he climbs the stairs to the loft and finds her spooning Dolly on the floor he has to laugh.

"She missed me," Liv explains, burying her face in the terrier's fur.

"I can see that," he smiles, stretching out on the couch.

He puts the television on, waiting patiently while she gets her fill of cuddling Dolly. Eventually, she gets up and lies down with him, resting her head on his chest and letting her eyes drift shut.

"Can I ask you something?"

She yawns, nuzzling her cheek against his shirt. "Only if it doesn't involve too much thinking, I'm fading fast over here. The pasta coma is taking over."

"Are you going to keep seeing Catherine?" he asks, hesitantly.

"Of course. We're going to do our sessions over video chat, she does it with clients all the time."

Fitz sighs, sounding more relieved than he means to. "Good, I—I'm glad."

Olivia hears him take a breath like he wants to say something else, but when he doesn't say anything she props her chin on his chest, eyes searching his face.

Returning his soft smile, she prompts him gently. "What? You can say it, it's okay."

"No, I—it's just…you're different, since you've been talking to her."

She tips her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know you're—" He pauses, wanting to word his thoughts very carefully, "I think the best way I can explain it is that, you're more _you_. You're not—you don't hold things back the way you did before, and I don't just mean words. It's in your face, your body language, it's everything. I mean, obviously you've always been _you_ , and I've always felt close to you but there's something about the way you talk to me now—I'm probably not making any sense—"

Resting a finger on his lips she cuts him off, holding in a laugh because he's so damn cute when he rambles like that.

"I feel that way too," she says, softly, "I feel…free. I'm starting to feel like it's really okay for me to want what I want, and feel what I feel."

"It _is_ okay. You're just letting yourself _be_ , I love it."

"Mmm-hmm," she hums, closing her eyes, smiling, "It's all very existential and whatnot."

"You're very _zen_ these days," he teases, running his finger down the bridge of her nose.

She giggles at that. "I don't know if I've achieved zen status, I have good days and bad days. But I definitely feel better, in general."

His warmth is making her drowsy and she hugs in even closer to him, relaxing, letting him hold her.

"Want to go to bed?"

"Mmm," she sighs, "Not yet."

* * *

 **4 Days Later…**

"Are you using all the hot water?"

"Yes," she sing-songs, smiling as she drags the razor over her calf.

Olivia can see him peeling his clothes off through the textured glass surrounding the shower, and she moves toward the back of the stall to make room for him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he laughs, shutting the door behind him and stepping underneath the rain shower.

She's contorted awkwardly, shaving the back of her thigh. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Looks dangerous," he comments, slicking his hair back and reaching for the shampoo.

"Oh it is, being a woman comes with all kinds of dangerous tasks. Don't even get me started on waxing."

Fitz smiles, shuddering. "I don't even wanna know."

Chuckling, she rinses her razor and sets it back on the shelf.

"It's already so nice out today, I ran them an extra mile."

"I'm so jealous that you can run," she whines, working citrus and mint scented body wash into her loofah.

"You'll adjust, it just takes time. We're at pretty high altitude, it's not like moving to Denver. How did you run when you came to visit me the first time?"

"Adrenaline? Stress? I don't know, but when we tried the other day I just couldn't breathe."

"Be patient, Livvie. That stuff smells really good, gimme."

They switch places and she passes him the loofah, grinning in amusement as he runs the bright purple puff of material over his chest and arms, coating himself in suds. When he's finished he pulls her against his chest, stepping back under the water to rinse them both.

"Are you excited?" she asks knowingly, watching as he nods, a big smile spreading across his face.

"I can't wait to see him. We always have such a good time when he comes in the summer."

"And Teddy knows I'm here, right?"

"Liv, he's fine with it, I promise. He's excited to see you, he even asked about you the other night."

She's quiet, resting her cheek on his chest, closing her eyes as the warm water runs over them.

"Hey," he prompts softly, giving her a gentle squeeze.

Olivia sighs, looking up at him, letting his reassuring smile soothe her anxiety. "He was so little the last time I saw him, too little to have any real opinions. He's almost seven now, he's old enough to decide he doesn't like me."

"He is not going to decide he doesn't like you. Not unless you break his Xbox or something, that would be unforgivable."

She cracks a smile at that, laughing a little and resting her forehead against his chest.

"And I'll offer one more time, you can come with me to pick him up, you don't have to wait here for us."

Shaking her head, she moves to shut the water off, reaching for two towels. "You guys should have that time, I'm fine waiting here. Besides, I have work to do, and I'm already behind today because I fell back to sleep earlier this morning..."

They climb out of the shower and he comes up behind her in front of the mirror, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"You wore me out too, if it's any consolation," he murmurs, brushing his lips against the curve of her neck.

She sways against him, eyes slipping closed, breath catching as his mouth ghosts over her sensitive skin. Turning around, she can't resist pulling him down into a kiss. "I promise I'm not complaining. I love waking up with you."

Fitz slips his tongue into her mouth and gently pins her back against the sink with his hips, grinding softly, sighing as she threads her fingers into his wet hair.

She lets him sweep her away for a second, trying not to get too carried away. "Mmm…Fitz, sto—no, no, no. We don't have time, you're going to be late."

He knows that she's right and he pulls away reluctantly, gazing down into her expressive brown eyes.

"Go," she urges, trying to pry his arms from around her waist.

"Fine," he says, coolly, feigning nonchalance.

As he turns to walk away, he flicks open the edge of his towel so that it falls to the floor, glancing back at her smugly. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, rolling her eyes at him.

As soon as he turns away she takes a step forward, landing a sharp smack on his ass, making him yelp.

"You're gonna pay for that one," he calls as he retreats into the bedroom.

"I hope so," she calls back, smiling at herself in the mirror.

* * *

 **That Night…(Teddy's POV)**

 _Liv is my Dad's favorite person._

 _I know she is because when my Dad looks at her, he makes the same face that I do when I look at Hamilton, the new puppy my Mom got me for my birthday. I think I love Hamilton just as much as Dad loves Liv, which is a whole lot._

 _I don't mind that Liv is his favorite person, it doesn't have anything to do with me or my sister because we're his kids and that's a different kind of love. Plus, I really like Liv, for lots of reasons, so having her around again is really good._

 _People don't think I remember a lot about when my Dad was the President, but I do. I remember getting to play with my Dad in his giant office sometimes, and I remember what my room looked like. I remember Miss Jen and Miss Marta, the ladies who used to take care of me all day because my Mom and Dad had to work so hard. I remember my Mom and Dad yelling at each other a lot, at night, when they thought I couldn't hear them._

 _I remember when my Mom and Dad decided they didn't want to be married anymore, and I had to leave with my Mom to go to a new house, with a new room, and a new babysitter. I really didn't like it at first, mostly because even though I love my Mom, she doesn't play with me as much as Dad does. But I got used to it, and I still got to see my Dad sometimes, kind of like now I guess._

 _The thing about being a little kid, is that sometimes people forget you're there and then you end up getting to see a lot of stuff that you're probably not supposed to. I don't remember when I first met Liv, I just remember that she was with us a lot. I don't think most people knew when my Dad was President that Liv was his favorite person, but I did. The way my Dad looks at her now? He's always looked at her like that, and he doesn't look at anybody else the way he looks at Liv, not even my Mom, not ever._

 _After my Mom and Dad weren't married anymore, Liv was with my Dad all the time instead of just sometimes. Even though I was around Liv a lot, I never really got to talk to her until then, and I think it was because of my Mom. I know I said that no one else knew that Liv was my Dad's favorite person, but actually, I think maybe Mom did. Maybe she was afraid if she let me play with Liv, she might be my favorite person too, which is silly, but grown-ups do silly things sometimes._

 _Anyway, when Liv and my Dad were together all the time, everything was just so great. Dad looked so happy, I didn't even know his face could look that happy and for a while I thought maybe he was pretending, but he wasn't. And then I finally got to be friends with Liv, and we used to have fun, too. She's pretty funny, and she used to like to read books and play Legos with me, which I really liked._

 _The only thing I don't like about Liv, is that sometimes she goes away for a long time, like she did after we played Legos one night. The next time I came to see my Dad, she wasn't there anymore, and my Dad was so, so, sad. I really didn't like that._

 _She's back now, but I wonder if she's going to leave again. I really don't want my Dad's face to look like it did when she left the last time, so I hope she's going to stay with him forever._

 _And that's how I know Liv is my Dad's favorite person._

* * *

 **3 Days Later…**

"Do you live here with my Dad now?"

Liv glances over at Teddy as they pick through the garden, adding anything that looks ripe to a large bowl.

"Kind of. I'll live here with him for a few more weeks, and then I might go back to Washington."

"That's where I live, with my Mom, and Hamilton," Teddy says, poking at the bed of salad greens, "But in the summer I like it here better. Dad always takes me on adventures with James and Dolly. Can I come here right after school's over next year?"

"You'll have to ask your Dad, but I'm sure he would really like that."

He fingers the tops of a small patch of carrots. "What about these, Liv?"

"Go ahead, they should be ready."

She watches him tug at the carrots, pulling a few out fairly easily before he gets to a large one.

"Pull hard," Liv smiles, watching him bite the tip of his tongue in concentration.

With one more hard yank, the huge carrot comes loose and Teddy falls backward, landing squarely on his butt.

"Whoa!" he exclaims, holding it up for her to see.

"That's a big one! Good thing you pulled it, it's ready for us to eat."

He dumps the carrots into their bowl, wiping his hands off on his shorts.

"Oops," he says, sheepishly, "Mom gets mad when I do that."

Olivia stands up, covering the garden bed back up with chicken wire, winking at him. "Don't worry about it, you're in the mountains now, you're supposed to get dirty."

"Can we look in the other box? Dad said there are snap peas over there and I like those."

"Sure, come help me pull the wire off."

The two of them maneuver the protective covering away from the vegetables and locate the snap peas, picking them carefully.

"Liv, are you gonna decide you don't want to be my Dad's girlfriend anymore?"

She's speechless for a second, because the question comes out of nowhere. Teddy stares at her, blinking thoughtfully, not seeming to realize that he's caught her off guard.

"No, Teddy, of course not—come here for a second."

They sit down on the edge of the box together, and she takes a deep breath, trying to wrap her head around the conversation they're about to have.

"Why do you think I might decide that?"

He shrugs, munching on a snap pea. "Because grown-ups do that sometimes. My Mom and Dad decided they didn't want to be married anymore, and now they're not. If you wanted, you could decide you don't want to be Dad's girlfriend anymore, and then you won't be."

"I'm not going to leave your Dad," she says softly, "I love him very much, I wouldn't be a whole person if I didn't have him anymore."

"How do you know, though?"

"How do I know what?"

"That you won't want to leave."

"Well," she sighs, trying to decide how to explain it, "Me and your Dad have been trying to be together for a really long time—"

"Since we all lived in Washington," Teddy interrupts, plucking another snap pea from the plant to eat.

"Right, since we all lived in Washington. The reason we had to try for such a long time is because—because we love each other so much, that sometimes we forget there are things we don't agree on, and we forget to talk about those things because we're so busy being in love. So then we get mad at each other."

Teddy's brow furrows in thought. "Like when Hamilton pees on the floor, and I get mad at him because I have to clean it up, but I still love him?"

She successfully stifles a laugh, because it's actually not a bad analogy. "Kind of. Except we're grown-ups, so sometimes we really hurt each other and then we have to be apart for a while. And sometimes, the more grown-ups love each other, the more times they have to hurt each other and be apart before they can finally be together for good."

"So you and Dad had to do that a lot of times? Because you love each other a lot?"

"A _lot_ of times. But, if two people can keep figuring out how to come back to each other, they get stronger every time and eventually they know they'll be together forever. That's how I feel about your Dad."

"Because he's your favorite person?"

She smiles, not having thought about it in those terms. "Yeah, because he's my favorite person."

"Good. Because when you're not with him, he looks really sad, like I did when my goldfish died. It's really not fun to be sad, I want Dad to feel happy."

"I want your Dad to feel happy too," she grins, ruffling his hair.

"So are you gonna marry him?"

This time she does laugh, standing up to re-cover the vegetables. "Okay, I think that's enough questions for one day, kiddo."

* * *

 **The Next Evening…**

"Hey, how was your session?"

"Hard. Exhausting. Good," she admits, entering the office and sitting down across from him with a tired smile, "Where's Teddy?"

"He fell asleep."

Olivia raises her eyebrows. "Really? Is he feeling okay? It's only seven-thirty."

"He's fine, I think the hike just wore him out. We haven't ever done that many miles in one day before."

She nods, getting up after a second to go and sit in his lap. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

"Uh-oh," he smirks, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"It's not bad, it's just—Catherine gave me some homework this time…and I, um, I need your help to do it. Is that okay?"

"Oh," he says, a little bit surprised, "Sure, anything. What do you need me to do?"

"I'm supposed to—I'm supposed to practice telling you that I love you."

"Really?" he asks softly, touched that she would devote precious therapy minutes to this, "That's something you're working on?"

"Well, yeah," she says, suddenly shy, "You say it to me all the time, and I want to be able to say it back, I don't want to be so stifled."

"You say it sometimes," he reassures her, "And you know it doesn't matter to me, right? I know how you feel."

"I know you do. It matters to me, though. I don't want to have to work so hard to say it, or to only spit it out when I'm emotional and I'm not thinking about it. I feel it all the time, I want to be able to say it all the time."

"Okay," he smiles, "I mean, do you want to practice now?"

"No," she says immediately, eyes wide.

He doesn't mean to laugh at her but she looks so terrified at the prospect that he can't help it.

"No?" he laughs, eyebrows raised, and luckily she sees the hilarity and laughs with him, covering her face with her hands.

"I didn't mean it like that," she laughs.

Laughing with him after today's session feels so _good_ , it's the most delicious release. Even though she's taking this particular piece of homework very seriously, she's still able to laugh at herself, at the fact that she literally needs to _practice_ telling her partner she loves him.

"I just meant, let's do it later, I need an hour or so to decompress," she giggles, wiping the corner of her eye.

"Are you supposed to, just, sit down with me and practice saying it?"

"Yes," she answers softly, "And then practice in appropriate moments. Until I don't hesitate anymore, until I can just say it, whenever I feel it."

He has a thousand questions about that. Why does she feel like she can't say it? Why is she hesitating? How is she able to say it to him sometimes and not other times? Has he done anything to make her feel this way? But…he holds them all in. He knows that those are the things she works through with Catherine, things she'll tell him when she's ready. His job right now is to support her, to love her, to make her laugh after therapy has made her cry, to _be there_ for her.

* * *

" _Oh…right there…_ "

They've never had _normal_ before.

Even in the White House, things hadn't been _normal_ , the kind of normal a relationship reaches when both people are truly committed to forever. They've never really lived together in a calm, relaxed environment, where they can climb into bed at nine or ten o'clock like _normal_ people, and have sex just because they feel like it. He's essentially retired, and she turns her phone off at the end of the workday now. They're not racing against the clock, working around his hectic Presidential schedule, or secretly hoping that her cell phone doesn't ring with Washington's latest crisis.

" _Don't stop…oh my g—…just like that…_ "

Having whisper-sex because there's a seven-year-old sleeping on the first floor feels decidedly, _normal._

They're not doing anything fancy, but she's _writhing_ beneath him.

She's on her back, cradling his hips between her thighs as they move together. Their rhythm is easy, not fast, not slow, it's perfect, comfortable. She sighs into his mouth as they kiss, stroking her palms up his back, over his shoulders, up to cradle his neck as he pulls away, moaning quietly.

She watches him get lost in her, watches his lips part with each moan, watches pleasure twist his features, lets him drive her higher and higher.

Groaning helplessly, he buries his face in her neck. " _Fuck_ , you feel so good, I'm gonna come."

Another hot wave of arousal sweeps through her at the desperation in his voice, and she grinds her hips up, arches her back.

" _Fitz_ …"

She's close too, she just needs a little bit more, but he already knows, and she feels him slip his hand between them. Sharp pleasure radiates through her hips as he expertly strokes her swollen clit, sucking at _that spot_ on her neck, bringing her over the edge with him.

They're big fans of pillow talk, and they cuddle up together afterward, chatting quietly in the dark.

"That kid _grilled_ me yesterday, did I tell you about that?"

"No," Fitz chuckles, "What did he say?"

"We were out in the garden, and he started asking me all these questions about our relationship. Whether I lived here, if we were going to break up again, how could I be so sure we _weren't_ going to break up again…"

Fitz gives her a smug smile, shrugging his shoulders. "He was just asking about your intentions, making sure that you're good enough for me."

She laughs quietly. "If I didn't know better I'd say that you're exactly right."

"You two had a good talk, then?"

"I think so," she smiles, "He's such a smart kid, really thoughtful. I think he understood what I was saying."

"I'm sure you did great," he says quietly, brushing a curl away from her face.

"He asked me if I was going to marry you."

Fitz takes a shallow inhale, clearing his throat and searching her eyes for any hint of panic. "What did you say?"

She looks down for a second, breaking their intense gaze. "I told him he'd asked enough questions for one day."

They're quiet for a beat, secure in the comfortable silence.

"We haven't—um—we haven't talked about that at all, you and I," she continues.

Now he's _really_ shocked. Never in a million years would he have expected her to continue this conversation.

"I just didn't think—I didn't want—"

"You didn't want to scare me," she interrupts, absently pulling at a thread on her pillowcase.

"I didn't think it was an option that would ever be on the table, to be honest. And I'm okay with that, you know I am."

"You want to get married."

It's not a question, it's a statement, and she meets his eyes when she says it, like she's daring him to challenge what she knows to be true.

"I—of course I do," he breathes, honestly, "I've been dreaming about marrying you since we first met. But what I'm saying is that it's not a deal-breaker for me, Liv. If you don't want it, I'm okay with that. Unless…you've changed your mind?"

Olivia closes her eyes for a second, smiling to herself. "I can imagine it. I couldn't before, but I can now. It was never that I didn't want to marry you, it was the way—"

"—the way it came about, I know," he finishes.

"Right. I just wanted us to get married for _us_ , not because we had to. And that's the way it would be now. And…nothing would really have to change. I'm going to have to be in D.C. sometimes, because of work, but that doesn't mean we couldn't get married. It's working out for us now, it would still work."

"So," he says slowly, trying to wrap his head around what's just happened, "Are you saying you want to get married?"

"Are you proposing?" she smiles.

"Oh no," he murmurs, cradling her cheek, rubbing his thumb across her cheekbone, "When I propose to you, you'll know it."

* * *

 **A/N: Is there an Olitz wedding, Madness-style in the future? ;-) I hope the pacing of this wasn't too confusing. Let me know what you thought!**


	13. Chapter 12

**January 2020**

"I can't believe you have to fly out there again."

Olivia sighs, folding another sweater into her suitcase. "I know, Fitz, I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad I'm just—we had plans this weekend, they closed some trails for us in Breck. I'll go by myself, but, I wanted to go with _you_."

She stops packing and gives him her full attention, crossing over to the bed where he's already under the covers.

"I wanted to go, too," she admits, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him, "But I feel like this Senator Brooks case can't wait. They're flailing, I need to go and restore order. Quinn and Marcus are so divided on this one, I could barely get a word in today when they Skyped me in."

Fitz lets her lace their fingers together, setting his book aside. "They've been arguing a lot lately."

"I know, that's another reason I need to go back. I need to get to the bottom of it, I need them to get along so that things run more smoothly. I think it's just a power struggle, they both need to realize that they hold the same position. OPA is a _team_ , and they need to be reminded of that."

"Do you…" Fitz hesitates, casting his eyes downward, "Do you want to talk about splitting our time? Fifty percent here and fifty percent there?"

Her eyes warm, and she scoots closer to him. "No, I don't. I know I've been back and forth three times this month, but, we're in transition, it won't be like this forever."

"I'm not pushing you, I just feel like it would be unfair for me to not even _offer_ to compromise."

"I don't want to be away from our house for two weeks at a time, and what are we going to do, put James and Dolly on a plane twice a month? This is home, Fitz," she assures him softly.

"Okay," he nods, smiling gently, "If you're okay with it, I'm okay with it."

"Want to come with me?" she murmurs, climbing over him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He gives her a lazy grin, fingers creeping beneath the hem of her lounge top, "Yes. But you know I can't, someone has to stay here with the beasts."

"I know," she relents, leaning in to kiss him, pouting a little bit, "We're so spoiled now, we're so used to being together that even a few days apart is torture."

"How long are you going, exactly?"

Olivia tries to distract him with soft pecks, nipping at his top lip. "Five days?"

"Five days!?" he exclaims, trying to talk around her kisses.

"Shh," she whispers, laughing softly, "I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll start right now."

"No, _I'll_ start right now," he growls, flipping her over onto the bed, playfully pinning her down.

* * *

 **5 Days Later…**

Naturally, the day her engagement ring is finally ready, she's due back from D.C. and he has to lie to her about where he's going. He tells her that he's scheduled a few meetings for the foundation in Denver that day, including a dinner, and that he won't be back in the mountains until after nine. Really, he's headed to the jeweler after hours, so there's no chance he'll be recognized.

He's been looking at diamonds for months, ever since their conversation about marriage over the summer.

A small, prestigious jeweler down in Denver has been endlessly patient with him, shipping stones in from all over the world, guiding him through clarity, and cut, and color. He chooses a round shape from the beginning, the same shape as her favorite pair of earrings, and dismisses anything above two carats as too big.

Finding a flawless diamond is harder that he thought it would be, but if she won't let him splurge on size, he's going to splurge on clarity. He's going to get her the purest, most perfect diamond he can find. So he looks at dozens of diamonds, dozens of colors and cuts, until he finds the perfect one.

Mabel Byrnes has been a jeweler for over forty years, her father was one before her, and his father before him. Byrnes Custom Designs is the oldest jeweler in Denver, and Fitz considers himself lucky to have gotten in the door.

"Mr. President," Mabel, greets, smiling and holding the back door open for him.

Fitz kisses her cheek warmly, following her through the workshop and out into the showroom. "Thanks again for doing this, I'm sure you'd rather be home having dinner. And please call me Fitz, I keep asking you to, and you keep ignoring me."

"With all due respect, Mr. President, my generation was raised to believe that anyone who serves this country deserves to be acknowledged as such," she counters, winking at him.

"Fair enough," Fitz smiles, letting her lead him into a private office in the corner of the room.

Mabel gestures for him to have a seat on one side of the table, flicking on the bright task light and lighted magnifier.

"It's turned out beautifully, I think you're going to be very pleased with it," she says, moving to unlock the safe in the corner of the room, retrieving the ring.

Sitting down across from him, she makes a show of laying out a fresh piece of velvet, taking immense pride in displaying her work. Carefully, Mabel slides the ring from it's padded bag onto the velvet.

Olivia's diamond is an internally flawless, color grade F stone, the closest to an optically clear, unblemished stone that money can buy outside of something that belongs in a museum. It's one and a quarter carats, smaller than one might think a well-off, former POTUS would go for, but he knows it will suit her, and the perfect brilliant cut and high clarity make it sparkle like a firework in even the lowest of lighting.

Under the task lamp it's nearly blinding, reflecting light from every angle. Even though he's seen the diamond before, hand-picked it, seeing it set in twenty-four carat plated gold makes it all the more real for him. Fitz picks the ring up, turning it over in his palm. The band is actually made of two pieces that cross over one another ever so subtly, with so much intricate detail that he has to hold the ring closer to see it.

"Mabel, it's perfect. It's so special, it's exactly what I had in mind, thank you."

"Oh, it was my pleasure. Custom work is a joy, it's so rewarding to make a drawing come to life."

She opens a drawer and retrieves a deep green velvet box, taking the ring from him and giving it once last polish, tucking it into the cushioning.

"So," Mabel starts conspiratorially, clasping her hands together and leaning forward, "Forgive me for being a busybody, but what's the plan?"

He laughs, delighting at the twinkle in the older woman's eyes. "Well, she's been working in D.C. for the last five days, so I thought I'd surprise her and take her skiing tomorrow, you know, just to 'decompress'. And if the chairlift happens to 'accidentally' break down…"

* * *

Fitz unlocks the door around nine-thirty at night and steps inside, locking it behind him and setting the alarm so that his agents can go home. The house is dark and quiet upon first glance, and he carefully opens the hall closet, quickly stashing her ring in the inside pocket of his ski jacket, triple checking that it's secure. Hanging up the jacket he's currently wearing, he calls out for her, frowning when she doesn't answer. Hoping she isn't still working, he peeks down the hallway to see that the lights in the office are off and continues toward the stairs.

He smiles as Frank Sinatra's buttery smooth vocals reach his ears, filtering down from the loft where she must be playing records.

 _When somebody loves you_

 _It's no good unless he loves you all the way_

"Ol' blue eyes tonight? I love it," he calls, coming up into the loft.

He stops short when he sees the candles.

She's lit about a dozen candles and placed them around the room so that they cast a warm glow, complimenting the fire in the woodstove. The television is off and she's sitting on the sofa, watching him take it all in, waiting for him in what he teasingly calls her 'winter uniform', leggings and a chunky sweater. She's been waiting for him.

"What is all this?" he asks softly, coming around the sectional.

Olivia watches him absorb the unexpected scenario, trying to will her heart to beat slower, which is never an easy task when he's around.

 _Taller than the tallest tree is_

 _That's how it's got to feel_

 _Deeper than the deep blue sea is_

 _That's how deep it goes if it's real_

He takes her breath away without even trying, he always has, and she's sure he always will. She gets up from the sofa when he comes closer, wordlessly wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss.

"How was dinner?"

It takes him a second to remember what she's talking about, his cover story. "It was good, it was—what—is there something I should know about? Are we celebrating something?"

Her expression is unreadable, her eyes warm and soft as she takes his hand, guiding him to sit down on the sofa with her.

 _But if you'll let me love you_

 _It's for sure I'm gonna love you all the way_

 _All the way_

He can see her thinking and, as always, he waits for her to speak. When her eyes meet his they're so open, so happy.

"I want to give you something," she says quietly, the slightest hint of nerves in her voice.

She reaches for a large manila envelope on the coffee table, and when she hands it to him he notices that her hands are shaking.

"What is it?"

She smiles, nudging him playfully. "Just open it."

Now _he's_ nervous, bending the metal fasteners and opening the envelope, pulling out the paperwork inside.

Olivia watches his brow furrow as he looks over the papers, waiting for him to figure it out.

"This is a deed of sale for…your apartment? You sold your apartment?"

She nods, smiling softly, waiting, waiting—

 _Something in your eyes was so inviting_

 _Something in your smile was so exciting_

 _Something in my heart told me I must have you_

"You sold your apartment," he breathes, his eyes flicking between hers and the deed of sale papers, "When?"

"This past week, when I went to D.C. we signed the final documents. I wanted to wait until everything was finalized before I told you, I wanted it to be a surprise."

He looks shocked, like he doesn't quite know what to make of it. "So, what does—does this mean—"

"It means I'll only be in D.C. four days a month, not whenever something comes up that I need to handle. Four days, four _scheduled_ days, and the rest of the time, I'll be here. I'll keep working with my team, from here, but I've told them that they can't expect me to just pick up and fly there anymore," she explains, carefully gauging his reaction.

"Liv, that's—that's a huge change for the business, are you sure?" he asks, still trying to wrap his head around it.

She takes a breath, looking at him sincerely. "Look, I spent the first half of my life putting work first, above everything. I buried myself in it, I used it as a crutch, I used it as a shield, it was my drug, my salvation, my whole _life_ , and I'm ready for that part of my life to be over. Work isn't the center of my life anymore, _you_ are. My business is built, it's thriving, it doesn't need me as much as our relationship does. I've invested all of my energy into work for the last twenty years, and now I want to invest in _us_."

"You're really going to be here full-time?" he asks quietly, smiling like it's just now sinking in.

"I really am," she murmurs, "And I really _want_ to be."

 _Ever since that night, we've been together_

 _Lovers at first sight, in love forever_

He glances down at the deed of sale again, turning it over in his hands. "Your apartment though…it's _your apartment_ , it's been your home for so long."

"It was my home for a long time, you're right. But, when I really look back on everything that happened in that apartment? Everything I went through? Most of the memories aren't happy ones. It was my home, but it was my hiding spot too, to hide from the truth, from the world, from you, whatever I was running from at the time. But I'm not hiding, or running, anymore. It's time to let it go," she nods, taking the deed from him and running her hand over it.

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?"

"It feels like the next step for us. You've made so many sacrifices for us, you've taken almost all of the steps, and it's my turn—"

He raises his eyebrows, reaching out to run his hand down her arm. "Liv, we've come such a long way over the last year because of you. You moved out here part-time on your own, that was your decision. You started seeing Catherine, and our communication is so much better because you did, that was your decision too. Don't feel like you haven't been an equal partner in this because you have."

"I know that," she says, quietly, "But it doesn't change the fact that I have a lot to make up for."

"You don't," he breathes, shaking his head, "Don't feel guilty about the past, let that go. You've more than made up for it, we've moved past all of that, together."

Olivia looks up at him, smiling gently. "I'm doing this because I want to, for me, for _us_. I want to move here. I want to be here with you, and I wanted to show you that I'm ready, Fitz. I'm ready to commit to you, I want you to be my husband. I know I haven't given you many reasons to be confident in that, and I know why you're hesitating—"

 _She thinks he's hesitating? Shit._

"—you've been ready forever, and I'm giving you this as my promise, I'm here, I'm in this, I want you—"

She's still talking, and he knows he needs to stop her, to tell her that it's taken him so long to propose because he wanted it to be right, for it to be perfect. But suddenly he realizes he doesn't need to wait anymore, that they don't need a perfect moment. Any way that they agree to get married will be enough, because their love is big enough, they've waited long enough, and it's big enough to be special all on it's own.

"—and this isn't me proposing, I don't—I know you want to, and I don't want to take that away from you, but I wanted you to know—"

"Liv, I'm not hesitating. I'm not. Wait right here."

Her heart starts pounding as soon as he disappears down the stairs.

 _But oh my dear_

 _Our love is here to stay_

 _Together we're going a long, long way_

He has a ring.

Somehow, she knew he would, she knew he might propose right in this moment, but now that it's happening it feels so _big_ , so _surreal_. She's ready, she's ready to say yes, she's ready to be his, but that doesn't mean the gravity of the moment is lost on her.

When he comes back he has a little box in his hand, dark green velvet, and the breath leaves her lungs in one long exhale. And then he's sinking onto one knee in front of her, and she can't breathe, she can't hear anything over the blood rushing in her ears, and she wants to _hear_ him when he asks her.

"Wait, just wait, one minute," she murmurs, trying to catch her breath.

He knows immediately that she's not afraid, she's just overwhelmed, she's calling a time-out, and they're on the same wavelength because he's feeling overwhelmed too. Setting the closed ring box on the floor, he takes her hand and leans in to her, pressing his lips to the back of it.

Olivia folds over him, resting her forehead against the top of his head, inhaling the woodsy scent of his shampoo. Touching him calms her, always, and she lifts her other hand to the back of his neck, rubbing gently with the pads of her fingers. She feels her pulse slow.

"This is—"

"I know," he whispers, "I know."

They root down in each other, reflecting on how far they've come, everything they've been through over the past eleven, nearly twelve, years. They breath together, trying to absorb the knowledge that they're about to agree to forever, that hard work and unrelenting love have finally brought them to this place.

"Okay," she says softly, straightening up, giving him a watery smile.

Fitz stares at her, willing himself to imprint the look on her face into his memory, the way her eyes have gone warm and soulful.

"Okay," he answers roughly, clearing his throat, "I don't have a speech prepared or anything, so, I'm just…I love you."

She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, like she's trying not to cry, squeezing his hands. "I love you, too."

"Marry me, Livvie?"

He shows her the ring, and her eyes are swimming with tears so she can't really see it, but she doesn't care.

"Yes," she nods, cradling his face in her hands, kissing him softly, over and over, " _Yes_."

Sinatra continues to serenade them as they fall together, arms wrapping around each other, crying and smiling into kisses. Somehow, she ends up straddling him on the floor, his back against the sofa. Her fingers play with the soft curls at the nape of his neck as they kiss, and she hums softly, burying her face into his neck. He wraps her up, returning her hug and holding her tightly.

 _With all your faults, I love you still_

 _It had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you_

Suddenly, she remembers, pulling away to run her hands down his arms, connecting with his right hand where he's still holding the ring box. She brings his hand around and lets him open the box again, glancing up at him.

"Wow," she whispers, delicately tracing her finger over the sparkling diamond.

"Do you like it?" he asks, adorably hesitant, "If you don't, it's okay."

She raises her gaze to his, laughter in her eyes. "Why, because we can return it?"

They can't, she can tell just by looking at it that they can't return it, that it's custom made.

He chuckles quietly. "Well, no, but—"

She interrupts him with a kiss.

"It's beautiful. I love it."

Raising her left hand, she carefully eases doux bébé from her pointer finger, turning the ring over in her palm.

"What are you going to do with it?" he asks gently, knowing she won't wear rings on more than one finger, not on a daily basis.

Liv gazes at the ring fondly. "I don't know yet. I don't want to just put it away, it's…I love this ring. Maybe I'll wear it on a necklace? I'll think of something."

For now, she hands it to him after he pulls her engagement ring from it's cushioning, nestling it safely inside the velvet box. She sets the box aside and turns back to him, a little surprised when he holds the diamond out to her.

She'd robbed him of this the first time, unceremoniously sliding the Betsy Ross ring onto her own finger. It's a small thing, but she knows it's part of the moment for him.

Instead of taking the ring she holds her left hand out for him, and he looks nearly giddy as he carefully slides it on for her, like she knew he would. She holds her hand up, admiring the radiance of the stone, feeling the cool metal against her skin.

"Does it fit?" he asks, "I didn't really know what size to get, we estimated."

Smiling softly, she raises her eyes back to his. "It's perfect."

She cradles his jaw, rocking forward in his lap as she presses her lips to his, nudging his head back against the couch. Fitz relaxes, palming her hips, letting himself be kissed.

 _Those fingers in my hair_

 _That sly come-hither stare_

 _That strips my conscience bare_

 _It's witchcraft_

"Want you," he rasps, slipping his hands underneath her sweater.

Olivia moans quietly, kissing her way back to his ear, biting delicately at his earlobe.

"You want me? Your fiancé?" she whispers, really wanting to use the word.

Everything tilts wildly for a moment as he easily flips her down beneath him, her legs automatically wrapping around his hips.

"I love that," he murmurs, his voice sinking low and soft enough to steal her breath, to make arousal pool between her thighs, "Say it again."

"Your _fiancé_ ," she breathes, her chest heaving gently under his intense gaze.

He rumbles his approval, slowly lowering his mouth to her neck.

 _And I've got no defense for it_

 _The heat is too intense for it_

 _What good would common sense for it do?_

 _'cause it's witchcraft, wicked witchcraft_

* * *

He's addicted to the way her skin looks in the candlelight. She's shimmering, glowing from within, laid out beneath him as he worships her.

" _Baby…_ "

Her breath catches on a sob when he scrapes his teeth over a sensitive nipple, drawing the peak back into his warm mouth with gentle suction. He's got two fingers curled inside her, pressing and thrusting slowly, drawing out a continuous stream of soft moans.

Olivia guides him back up into a kiss, panting into his mouth, sucking on his tongue. Her hips flex when he hits a particularly good spot, and she whimpers as he strokes faster.

"I'm gonna— _oh_ …"

He drags his thumb over her clit and she comes on his hand, gasping against his lips, riding his fingers. As she comes down he eases them from her, and she watches with hazy eyes as he sucks them into his mouth, humming lowly. He lowers his mouth to her neck, but before he can kiss his way down her body she pulls him up again, kissing him deeply, teasing his ears with soft strokes.

Fitz moans appreciatively as she rocks her hips up against his cock, trying to coax him inside her. He has other plans, however, not quite ready to end his languid exploration of her body just yet. The smooth, lustrous expanse of her skin is too tempting, and he needs more of her, he needs to make her come again.

"You are so beautiful," he murmurs, kissing down her throat, "God, your skin."

"Fitz…"

Her hands rest over his biceps as he sucks a mark onto her ribcage, the secret, sensitive spot that makes her writhe. He pulls away to soothe the reddened skin with his tongue, kissing lazily across her stomach, nipping around her belly button. She runs her hands over any part of him she can reach, breathlessly watching as he makes himself comfortable between her thighs.

Fitz cradles her hips, thumbs drawing delicate circles as he lowers his mouth, groaning and burying his tongue in her.

" _Oh god…ah…Fitz_ —"

She's so wet, so responsive, the salty sweet evidence of her arousal coating his tongue as he licks over her, listening to the delicious sounds she's making. She arches, pressing herself against his mouth, tangling her fingers in his hair as he teases her clit. His rhythm is merciless, designed to make her gasp, and beg, and _shatter_.

He hums through her orgasm, drawing it out, making her hips twitch with aftershocks. Eventually he crawls back over her, watching her eyes flutter open, grinning as she breathes out on a soft, satisfied sigh. Her face relaxes into a smile and she pushes up on his chest, rolling them so that she's on top.

Liv scoots forward to straddle his waist, propping her forearms on either side of his head so that she can lean down to kiss him, stroking her tongue into his mouth. She moans quietly as he skims his hands up and down her back, sucking on his bottom lip. As she brushes the damp curls away from his forehead, her ring catches in his hair and she pauses.

"Oops," she murmurs, gently pulling her hand free and smoothing the waves, watching the diamond reflect the candlelight.

The physical reminder that she's wearing his engagement ring sobers them, and intensifies the energy between them when they make eye contact. The way he's looking at her takes her breath away, she feels dizzy and flushed with the depth of it, with the solace and the _need_ in his eyes. Her lips part as her fingers trace his features slowly, reverently, dancing over his eyebrows, his cheekbones. She stills, meeting him in the quiet moment, pressing her forehead to his.

"I love you so much," she whispers, cradling his face with her palm.

He pulls her down into a long kiss, pouring all of his emotion into it, reaching down to line his erection up with her core.

And then she's biting her lip as he fills her, as they begin an achingly familiar dance. Olivia drags her palms over his chest, sitting up to ride him slowly. She takes him in again and again, squeezing around him, coaxing guttural moans from deep in his belly. His face is twisted in pleasure, his skin damp, and it makes her pant, intensifies the throbbing between her thighs.

Fitz rolls her beneath him and makes love to her like only he can, like it's the last time and the first time all at once, until they come together, breathless and shaking.

* * *

 _Out of the tree of life_

 _I just picked me a plumb_

 _You came along_

 _And everything started in to hum_

 _Still it's a real good bet_

 _The best is yet to come_

They move to the couch after a little while, sated, curling up together underneath a blanket. He holds her against his chest, sighing contentedly.

"Where are the dogs?" he asks suddenly, craning his neck to look around.

"Sleeping on our bed," she admits, sheepishly.

"Liv!" he laughs, "Why?"

"The candles! I couldn't get them to keep a safe distance, I kept picturing one of them catching their tail on fire. Plus I wanted your full attention, so I bribed them."

He chuckles quietly at the image of her running around, lighting candles and simultaneously panicking as the dogs tried to follow her.

"We're going to spend the next week listening to them whine at night because they can't sleep with us, you know that right?"

"I know," she sighs, "But, I figured it was worth it."

Fitz presses a kiss to her forehead and she hums softly, holding her left hand up again so that she can look at her ring.

"Tell me about it," she requests softly, running her thumb over the band.

"What do you mean?"

She smiles, looking up at him. "There's a story, isn't there? You always have a story when you give me jewelry."

"Well," he starts, smirking, "For starters, _this_ ring has never belonged to anyone but you. I wanted you to have something that's just yours, just ours."

"I love that," she murmurs, nestling in closer, loving the sound of his warm baritone.

"It's custom-made, I've been going to a jeweler down in the city, her name is Mabel. She's been a jeweler for over forty years."

Olivia grins, propping herself up on his chest. "Mabel, huh?"

"Yup, Mabel. You'll meet her eventually, I promised when we were ready for wedding bands we'd let her do those too."

"Of course we will."

"Let's see what else," he muses quietly, picking up her hand, "I knew you'd take off your other ring and wear this one instead, so this looping detail is kind of a nod to that ring. It's the same gold too, so, I thought it might be like keeping a little bit of doux bébé."

She's touched, though not surprised, by the amount of thought he's put into the ring, listening intently.

"And the diamond…I'll just say I looked at a lot of diamonds, and, this is a good one."

"It's beautiful, honestly. I love it."

He sets her hand down and she hugs her arm across his waist, settling down with a sigh.

"I missed you," he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into her hair, just now acknowledging that they haven't seen each other in a week.

"You're going to get sick of me," she warns, yawning, "Now that I'm going to be here all the time."

He grins. "Never. Not even possible. I still can't—I'm so happy."

"Me too," she breathes, kissing his jaw.

"We have so many plans to make. Now that you'll have a schedule—"

"—we can travel, I know. Let's do it tomorrow, we've been talking about it for so long, we need to sit down and plan it all out."

"We're going skiing tomorrow," he remembers, suddenly.

She yawns again, closing her eyes. "We are? Is this what happens when you have a fiancé? You get spoiled with impromptu ski days?"

Fitz chuckles, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Just wait, Livvie, just wait."

 _Come the day you're mine_

 _I'm gonna teach you to fly_

 _We've only tasted the wine_

 _We're gonna drain the cup dry_

 _You think you've flown before, but baby, you ain't left the ground_

 _The best is yet to come and babe, won't it be fine?_

* * *

 **A/N: They did it! They're engaged! I really loved writing this chapter, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. Rest assured, I think I still have a bit of their story left to tell in this universe, so this isn't the last chapter, but I think the end is near. During their proposal scene, Fitz and Olivia listened to the Sinatra versions of (in order): _All The Way, Strangers in the Night, Love is Here to Stay, It Had to Be You, Witchcraft_ , and _The Best is Yet to Come_. Leave me a review and let me know what you thought!**


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: As a woman of science, I've always been sliiiightly annoyed by the fact that Fitz was perfectly fine after having a bullet shot into his brain. Into. His. BRAIN. I mean, c'mon. So, I was inspired to explore that. And before anyone panics, Fitz is healthy, you can enjoy the chapter lol. I would never do that to you guys!**

* * *

 **March 2020**

Olivia carefully opens the bedroom door, conscious to turn the handle and close it without letting the latch click. The room is dark, cool, and completely silent, she notices immediately that the ceiling fan is off now, which must mean that even the gentle whirring noise was irritating to him.

He'd woken up with a terrible migraine this morning, and now at two o'clock he's still curled in bed on his side, a pillow over his head.

Placing her cell phone and the glass of strong, chilled coffee she's carrying on the nightstand, she eases onto the bed and gently rubs his shoulder.

"Hi," she whispers, taking his hand when he flips his palm over, squeezing back, "Medicine not helping today?"

"Mmm-mmm," he rumbles, lifting the pillow to peek at her, "Hurts so bad."

"Want to try some caffeine? I brought coffee," she offers, voice barely above a whisper.

He squeezes her hand in assent, and she reaches over to pick up the glass, waiting patiently while he prepares to move his head.

Fitz's migraines are a lingering side effect of the gunshot wound he'd suffered nearly eight years ago. He's experienced all types of headaches since his injury, but the migraines are the worst, especially the ones that medication can't even begin to dull.

Finally, he slides the pillow away and props himself up, letting her guide the straw into his mouth. She watches as he drains half the glass, quickly laying back down, taking deep breaths to quell the nausea. It's a small victory when he manages not to throw up, and he finds her hand again, happy to have her company even though he feels like he's dying.

Liv sets the glass aside, her heart squeezing at seeing him in so much pain. "Want me to stay for a little while?"

He hums in appreciation, uncurling so that she can lie beside him. Shifting the pillow away so that she's close enough, she waits for him to hide his face in her chest instead, strategically replacing the pillow to put him back in complete darkness. He's grateful that she knows better than to wear perfume or lotion on a migraine day, and the faint lingering scent of her body wash and laundry detergent are actually soothing when he takes a deep breath. She's careful not to touch his head, knowing he'd rather she rub his back in slow, slow, circles.

The half glass of coffee isn't enough to keep him awake, and she's relieved to feel him fall asleep after a few minutes.

* * *

It's nearly five in the evening when he stirs awake, and she hasn't been able to bring herself to leave him, holding him the entire time.

Olivia loves to watch him wake up, even from a migraine-induced nap, because he's so adorable. It's dark enough in the room now that he pushes his trusty pillow aside, carefully squinting his eyes open, hair sticking out in odd directions. Gently scrubbing a hand over his face, he blinks up at her.

"Hey there," she smiles, already able to see that he's feeling better.

"Hi," he croaks, rolling onto his back, " _Fuck_ , that was rough."

Her instinct is to stroke her fingers through his hair but she stops herself, rubbing his chest instead. "How's the pain?"

"Better," he breathes immediately, "Just a headache now, and I'm not nauseous. Have you been in here with me this whole time?"

"I had my phone, I caught up on emails," she shrugs nonchalantly, stroking the back of her hand over his cheek.

"Livvie, you didn't have to lay here all afternoon, I'd have been okay."

"Well, you fell asleep on me and I didn't want you to wake up. I knew if you slept you'd feel better. Please stop, I don't mind laying with you."

He smiles softly at her. "Okay."

"Why isn't your medication working?" she asks, brows furrowed, "I thought it was supposed to at least take the edge off."

Sighing, Fitz gingerly runs a hand through his hair. "It is, but this brand hasn't been nearly as effective as the other one Terry prescribed me. When I have my appointment next week I'm going to ask her to switch it back."

"Good, I hate seeing you like that," she murmurs, sitting up beside him.

"Trust me, it's no picnic on my end either."

"You need to tell her about your ears, too, the ringing."

He shrugs her comment off. "I don't think there's anything to that. It's annoying, but it's been happening for years."

"Yes," she presses, "But you told me the other day it's been happening a little more, lately. If you don't say something I will."

"Listen, are you sure you want to come with me? These follow-ups are really long and boring."

She raises her eyebrows. "Of _course_ I'm coming. It's not like you're going for a stress test, you're going to a neurologist. They're going to stick you in a giant magnet and scan your brain, of course I want to be there. What if they find something in there?"

"Oh, there's a bunch of shit up there all right, scar tissue, constricted blood vessels, apparently—"

"—you know what I mean," she laughs, poking his arm.

Fitz sobers, taking her hand. "I'm happy you want to come, it might even be a little bit fun with you there. I'm just saying, I've been doing this once a year for the past five years, and more often before that. I'll be fine if you'd rather take an extra day with your team."

"We're getting married," she says softly, "We're partners, forever. That means I get to fuss over you when you have a migraine, and give you a kiss in the waiting room before you have an MRI. You'd do the same for me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would," he nods, smiling gently.

* * *

 **1 Week Later…**

They fly into D.C. the night before his appointment and check into their hotel, making their way upstairs.

As soon as the door closes he's on her, looping his arms around her waist, walking her backward through the suite and toward the bedroom.

"You and hotel rooms," she giggles, opening her mouth to his tongue as he kisses her languidly, sighing in pleasure.

Fitz grins as they walk, hands sliding down to cup her ass. "What about me and hotel rooms?"

"They make you horny," she teases, winding her arms around his neck as her thighs bump into the bed, "Every time we're in one, you jump me."

He laughs, raising his arms so she can pull his shirt off. "You make it sound so violent."

She cups his face, bringing his lips back to hers. Her breath deepens as his hands brush over her belly, unbuttoning her jeans. "No, not violent. Intense."

"I can't help it that we have so many good memories in hotel rooms. We were in a hotel room the first time I kissed you, the night I started learning where you like to be touched—"

"—everywhere, I like you to touch me everywhere."

"Mmm, there are some places you like better than others."

"That's true," she concedes softly, retrieving his hands from her hips and moving them to her breasts, nipples straining against the cups of her bra.

His thumbs trace circles, his own breath catching when her palm puts brief, wonderful pressure against his erection before she moves to push his pants off.

Her hands dance teasingly over his low belly, one of them snaking inside his boxers to tug on him gently. "You have favorite spots too, mister."

" _Fuck_ …I'm lucky I held it together as long as I did that night," Fitz gets out, voice strained, leaning down to kiss her again.

Scooting back onto the bed in her underwear, she reaches for his hand and pulls him on top of her.

"Tell me," she murmurs, because his voice has gone soft and raspy, the way it always does when he's aroused.

He smirks, leaning down to murmur against her ear. "You like my voice, Livvie?"

"You know I do," she breathes, guiding his hand down between her thighs, "Can't you feel how much?"

Fitz rubs her through the damp fabric, moving up and down in a few long strokes before he focuses on her clit, pressing his fingers teasingly. "You're so wet already…"

"Your voice is so sexy, baby, talk to me."

She leans up to capture his bottom lip, sucking on it as her legs instinctively spread wider when he presses harder.

"What do you want me to talk about?"

"Tell me what you were thinking that night— _oh_ —" Liv breaks off when he pulls the left cup of her bra down to free her breast, tracing her nipple with his tongue, "—the night—our first time."

Humming against her chest, he closes his eyes when the memories of that night wash over him. "You were so…I wanted you so badly. I've never wanted anyone like that. It was—it wasn't even a _want_ , it was—"

"—a _need_ ," she finishes for him, trying to keep her breathing under control as he unclasps her bra and pulls it off, covering her nipple with his mouth.

"Exactly. As soon as we were in that room I couldn't think about anything except touching you, kissing you, being inside you, I just _needed_ you."

She soaks through her underwear as he talks and he peels them off, gathering wetness with two fingers to rub over her clit.

"Baby—get inside me," she whimpers, her breath catching, hands squeezing around his biceps.

His fingers dip down low again, mouth sucking kisses against her neck. "Shh, in a minute."

She relaxes into the bed as he murmurs against her ear, because sometimes, when they're making love, he's in charge, and she _loves_ it. Fitz takes his time with her neck, lips teasing her with the kind of slow, open-mouthed kisses that make her whole body shiver.

"I was _nervous_ ," he reveals, nuzzling her cheek as he pushes his boxers off.

"You were? I couldn't tell," she breathes, surprised, even through her arousal-induced haze.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he groans into her mouth when their hips flex together, a slow, slick grind.

"It'd been so long for me. You were so beautiful, and I was already so in love with you. I couldn't believe you really wanted to be with me, I just wanted to make you feel good."

She moans, gently thrusting her tongue into his mouth, trying to use her legs to pull him in.

"I'd spent so much time staring at you, trying not to think about your skin, trying not to imagine taking you in every position, making you come," he murmurs, "When I finally got to hear you, and feel you, and _taste_ you—"

" _Fitz_ …"

Her hands thread into his hair, scratching over his scalp restlessly because his voice is doing _incredible_ things to her.

"I wasn't sure if you'd want me to use my mouth—"

"—I did," she whispers, her lips falling open on a gasp as he finally pushes the head of his cock inside her, "Your tongue felt so good everywhere else, I knew—"

He can't talk about going down on her without actually doing it, not when they're naked in bed, so he ignores her whine of protest when he pulls out, and slides down her body. Growling softly against her core, he pulls her closer and immediately circles his tongue around her clit, cradling it, flicking over it with practiced ease.

They stop talking while he brings her to orgasm because they have to, his mouth is full and she can't even attempt to organize words into sentences when his tongue is moving over her like that.

"Baby… _oh_ …"

Fitz kisses his way up her trembling body, letting her pull him into a long, tongue-filled kiss.

"Love the way you taste," he mumbles around her tongue, scraping his teeth over her bottom lip, tugging gently.

Olivia reaches down to wrap her hand around his erection, using her thumb to tease circles around the sensitive head until he's panting into her shoulder. Sliding a hand beneath her low back, he helps tip her hips so that they line up a little better, so that when he slides inside her the angle is just right. Pleasure spreads across her face as he stretches her and he pulls back to watch, lips parting on a soft groan.

" _Talk to me_. The first time you were inside me—"

"You felt amazing. I went slow, I didn't want you to hurt—"

"I didn't. You felt so good, I just wanted all of you. _Ungh_ …Fitz, more."

He curls the bend of his arm beneath her thigh, pressing in the last bit of his length. Liv exhales shakily against his mouth, carding her fingers through his hair.

" _Fuck,_ " she whimpers quietly, "I remember feeling like— _yes, baby, just like that_ —like we'd been making love for years."

Her breathless sighs are enough to push him right to the edge, like he's a teenager about to lose control. That's how she makes him feel, how good they still are together, even after all this time.

Clenching his jaw, he fights his orgasm back and kisses her, putting more weight behind his thrusts. His groans are strained, muscles tense as she drags her nails down his back.

And then they're both in that place where they can't really talk anymore, where they're talking with their eyes, lost in each other…

* * *

It's an hour drive up to Hopkins the following morning, so they need to leave at an ungodly hour. Olivia can't help but marvel at how _normal_ it feels to do things like fly, and drive together as a couple. Although most couples don't fly private, or take Secret Service escort to doctor's appointments, for them, it's wonderfully mundane.

"Next time we do this we need to stay in a hotel closer to the hospital," she yawns, climbing out of the SUV.

Fitz makes a face. "This isn't an awesome area, actually. The hospital campus is nice, but I don't think we'd have much fun here. Plus it makes more sense to stay down in D.C., we have people we want to visit with, and your office is there."

"I guess," she sighs, stretching, hoisting her bag over her shoulder, "It's just very…early."

He laughs at her, pulling her into his side as the automatic doors part to let them into the outpatient pavilion, Secret Service keeping a close perimeter.

As soon as they're checked in and settled into a prep room, Fitz changes into the track pants and tee shirt he's brought.

"You look like you're about to work out, not lay down for an hour," she teases, looking him over.

"Well, if I don't bring my own metal-free clothing they make me wear a gown, and I hate the gown," Fitz complains, sinking down into the chair next to her.

"How many MRIs have you actually had?"

"Let's see…well, I don't really know how many I had when I was in the hospital, I'm guessing four or five. And then the first year out I had another four, then the next four years I did two per year, so that's…I don't know, a lot, I've had a lot of MRIs," he laughs.

Her eyes widen as he attempts to do the math. "I'll say. You should be able to do the scan yourself by now."

A knock on the door gets their attention. "Knock, knock, you ready for me, Fitz?"

"Carol," he smiles, getting up to hug the short woman in scrubs.

"You look well Mr. President, I see Colorado still agrees with you!"

"It's wonderful," Fitz gestures, sitting back down as Carol rolls a stool around, "This is my fiancé, Olivia."

They've done it a few times already, but being introduced as his fiancé never gets old and she smiles broadly, reaching out to shake the woman's hand. "Nice to meet you, I take it you two go way back?"

"I _request_ Carol, she's the best IV stick in this entire hospital, and the sweetest," Fitz explains nudging his shoulder against hers.

Carol blushes, shaking her head. "I don't know about that, but I'm happy to re-arrange my shift once a year. Should we get it over with?"

"I suppose," he sighs, putting his hand out on the tray she's pulled over.

Olivia's brows furrow as the nurse presses gently against Fitz's veins, looking for a good one. "Why is he getting an IV?"

"For the contrast dye," Carol explains earnestly, glancing up at her, "He'll be getting an MRI with and without contrast today. After we go through the scan once without it, I'll go in and inject contrast through the IV and then we'll do a second round of images. Alright, one, two, three."

"See? I barely felt that," Fitz announces, grinning, "The contrast images have never shown anything new, but they like to look anyway. And it's pretty common, I think, to do with and without."

"It is," Carol agrees, taping the line down, "You are all set, I think we'll be ready for you in about fifteen minutes, okay? I'll be back."

Carol closes the door on her way out, giving them a little wave.

"She's so nice," Olivia comments, turning to him.

"She's the best. I actually met her when I did my first follow-up, and I've asked for her ever since. She's been doing this a long time."

He smoothes the tape on his hand, adjusting the IV line slightly.

She wrinkles her nose. "Does it hurt?"

"Not really, she does a great job. After a while it can get a little itchy, but otherwise it's fine. I just wish they'd only stick me once, I always do more bloodwork after this and they won't draw it from this line. It's a different port apparently," he sighs.

True to her word, Carol returns within fifteen minutes to get him for his scan.

"So, Olivia, you can wait right in here," Carol gestures as they walk past a glass-walled area with chairs and a television, "We'll be about an hour and a half."

"Okay," she breathes, trying to shake off the irrational nerves that have settled into her stomach.

Fitz turns to her, smiling gently. "It's fine, Liv. Nothing to be worried about."

"I know," she murmurs, squeezing his non-IV hand for a second, "Kiss."

He leans down at her request, kissing her softly. "I'll see you after."

Watching him walk away from her through a big pair of automatic double doors labeled "MRI Zone III" is a lot harder than she thought it would be. She knows she's being silly, he's not sick, he's _fine_ , this whole process is routine. Still, he's wearing a hospital bracelet, and there's an IV in his hand, and everything about this day is bringing back memories of one of the worst days of her life.

Olivia pulls out her laptop and tries to work for the next ninety minutes, intermittently glancing at her watch, trying to keep her mind from wandering too much, but her attempts are futile. Something she's noticed about developing PTSD and anxiety is that, occasionally, both will bleed over into other parts of her life, into events that have nothing to do with her kidnapping.

Before she can stop herself she's re-living the horrific week of his shooting in flashes. Watching him being wheeled away, bleeding, barely alive, seeing him later, lying motionless, covered in tubes and wires. Realizing what's happened, that she's on the cusp of panicking, she starts to breathe more deliberately, using her diaphragm the way Catherine's coached her to do. As soon as she focuses on breathing, her heart rate starts to slow, and it gets easier to control her thoughts.

As she's in the process of calming herself down, the doors open and Fitz walks out, waving to her with a big smile. Olivia tries to hide the lingering anxiety, tries to blink the tears out of her eyes, but she watches his smile disappear as he gets closer to her.

"Hey," he greets softly, face now etched with concern, "What's wro—"

Before he's even finished his sentence her arms slide around his neck, face hidden in his shoulder to breathe him in.

Fitz wraps his arms around her, heartbroken but not completely surprised that she's been anxious during the scan. She's been on edge in the hospital all morning, not in an obvious way, just in the subtleties of her posture, her eyes, things that anyone who doesn't know her like he does wouldn't be able to pick up on. At first he wasn't completely sure why, but now he understands.

Carol is hovering awkwardly in the entrance of the waiting room and Fitz tactfully waves her off, giving her a reassuring look and mouthing that they just need a minute.

Tightening his arms around her he rocks them back and forth slightly, moving to whisper against her ear. "It's not like before, okay? I'm okay."

He feels her nod against his shoulder, her arms loosening their grip slightly. "I'm being so ridiculous, I'm sorry."

"Don't, I don't want you to apologize. You can't help what you're feeling."

She stays in his arms for a few more moments, cupping his neck when she pulls away.

"I didn't have a panic attack," she tells him shyly, her voice quiet, "I did the breathing, and that weird muscle tense-relax technique, and I stopped it."

Fitz can tell she's proud of herself and he smiles at her, rubbing her back. "That's amazing, Liv. I'm so proud of you."

Feeling him against her, warm, alive, and perfectly healthy washes her anxiety away and she takes one last deep breath, swiping a palm over her cheek to catch a tear that's managed to escape. "How did it go?"

"It was fine. I took a nap for half of it," he tells her smugly, knowing they're both tired from the early morning.

Liv narrows her eyes at him for a second. "You're mean."

He chuckles quietly as she turns to put her laptop away.

* * *

The rest of the day is uneventful.

Visits to the blood draw lab, the neurology clinic, the cafeteria, a few hours of waiting around, and, finally, the appointment with Terry Meyers, Fitz's neurologist.

"Like I said before, the radiologist will go over your images very thoroughly, but from what I saw they look great. Your MRI really hasn't changed over the past several years, which is exactly what we want to see," she explains.

"You've probably answered this before, but is there anything on his MRI that explains the migraines? Or the ringing?" Liv asks.

"That's a great question, and the short answer is no," Terry sighs, "You know, the traumatized brain is still a very mysterious thing in a lot of ways. We fix the damage we can see, we manage swelling, we remove foreign objects, like bullets, and we can predict how the brain will respond to a certain extent. But there's so much complexity, so much happening on the cellular level with the way neurons communicate and the way tiny blood vessels are organized, sometimes we can't identify the exact cause."

Olivia listens carefully, nodding along. "So the trauma causing the headaches is probably more…subtle?"

"That's exactly right. There have been a few studies done on brain tissue after head trauma that show microscopic changes, but it's not the easiest task to approach families who've just lost a loved one and ask them to consent to research," Terry finishes.

"I can't even imagine," Liv murmurs.

Fitz squeezes her hand under the table.

* * *

Tired after a long day of appointments and driving, they order room service and settle back into their hotel room for the night.

"I'm just not sure we'll be able to get a reservation there on such short notice," Fitz calls to her from the bathroom, towel-drying his hair, "I mean I can call and throw my weight around but, honestly, I hate doing that, I feel like such an ass. Did you call Abby yet? Liv?"

She's sitting cross-legged on the bed in her pajamas when he comes in, staring down at her lap, absently picking at her cuticle.

"I think I need to talk about it," she says softly, not looking up, "I can't stop thinking about it and I—that usually means I should talk about it."

He slowly crosses to her and lays down on his side of the bed, propping his head up and palming her knee. "What time is your appointment with Catherine tomorrow?"

When she looks up at him her eyes are soft, a little hesitant. "I wanted to talk about it with you, if that's okay. We haven't, not really."

"Of course it's okay. I mean…what part do you want to talk about?"

She gets quiet for a second, looking down at her hands again. "What do you remember? About that day?"

"The day I was shot?" he clarifies.

Olivia nods, looking down at him. She's making him talk first, something he lets her get away with all the time. Catherine calls her out on it, but Fitz isn't her therapist, he doesn't need to push her.

"Not much," he sighs, rolling onto his back, "I remember the morning, I don't remember what we did that day but I remember working. Later, I remembered riding in the limo with Mellie, but I don't remember getting out of the car, and I don't remember getting shot."

She nods, smoothing a stray hair back into her bun. Fitz reaches out and she lets him pull her around to face him.

"What do you remember?" he asks softly.

"Everything," she whispers, immediately. Her right hand slides out to rest on his chest, right over his heart. "We were inside the gala when it happened and it was just…chaos. Eventually Secret Service found me and put me in a car, Cyrus must have sent for me right away, because you were still in the ER when I got there."

He stays silent while Liv takes a breath, hand moving gently over his chest, pressing to feel his heart.

"I don't think I really believed it until they wheeled you past me and you were…bleeding, and hooked up to tubes and monitors, it was—Fitz, I don't know if I want to talk about this, actually," she chokes out, closing her eyes.

"Hey, come here," he murmurs, gently tugging her down to lie next to him.

She puts her head on his chest, letting his warmth soothe her.

"I thought it would make me feel better, but—"

"I dreamed about you," he interrupts, rubbing her back, guiding her into less traumatic memories.

"What?"

"After surgery, before I woke up, I dreamed about you."

"You remember that?" she asks, surprised, "What did you dream?"

"I remember being asleep even better than I remember being awake in the hospital, it's weird. It wasn't anything specific, I just remember seeing your eyes a lot, your smile. I dreamed a lot of weird shit, but a lot of the time it was you. I always felt safer, if I could see you. I heard your voice too, but I don't know if it was real or not. Were you there? Did they let you in to see me?"

"A few times," she murmurs, "Not as much as I wanted. I tried to come and see you more but, she was always there. Made it awkward. One night I came when I knew you'd be alone so I could lay with you, just like this. You were so warm, I kept waiting for you to just, open your eyes, but you didn't."

"I'll bet I knew you were there."

"You're just trying to make me feel better."

"No, I'm serious," he argues, looking down at her, "There were times that I heard your voice, when I swore that I could really feel you. You probably _were_ there."

She's quiet, playing with the collar of his Navy shirt. "Did it make you feel…better? I don't know, can you feel better when you're in a coma?"

"It's not really 'better' or 'worse'. It's kind of…'warm' or 'cold', 'dark' or 'light', things that are more tangible. If I could see you, or feel you, things were warm, I felt less confused, like I didn't care why I couldn't wake up. When you were gone, if I heard other voices, I was more aware that something was wrong, it was a darker place."

"I can't believe you've never told me this before," she breathes, propping her chin on his chest.

Fitz shrugs, smiling gently. "Like you said, we've just never talked about it. I don't think about it that much, to be honest."

" _How_ can you not think about it?"

Taking a breath, he takes a second to decide how to explain it to her. "Being shot was awful, and the recovery was even more awful. But it's not the only terrible thing I've gone through, and it's not even the _most_ terrible thing I've gone through. I would do it again if it meant I could have my son back, or if you didn't have to go through being taken."

Her lips part slightly as she listens to him, marveling at his outlook.

"It's perspective, right?" he continues, "If you can't have perspective, you waste your whole life dwelling on things that aren't worth the energy."

Olivia leans forward, pressing her lips against his. "You're incredible."

"I don't know about that," he teases, "You sure you want to deal with migraines and neuro follow-ups for the rest of your life?"

She kisses him again, nodding slowly. "I wouldn't want things any other way."

* * *

 **A/N: I've been watching a lot of vintage Olitz lately, which is probably what inspired this walk down memory lane. As always, thank you so much for reading, and I'd love it if you left a review!**


	15. Chapter 14

_**March 2020 – Dillon, Colorado**_

"Fitz?"

Olivia opens the door to the office and calls out for him.

"You guys ready for me?" he calls back from the loft, sticking his head over the banister.

"Ready whenever you are, mister."

She's already pulled a chair in front of the computer for him when he walks into the office, and he settles next to her, leaning over to press an affectionate kiss to her cheek.

"Where's Catherine?" he asks, nodding to the empty desk on the screen in front of them.

"Making another cup of tea," Liv explains, settling back into her own chair.

"Alright, here I am," Catherine announces, bustling back into view with her cup of tea, shuffling notes around on her desk as she settles into her chair, "Fitz, welcome, good to see you again."

He's never actually participated in a session with Catherine before, but they'd met briefly via internet not long after Liv had started doing her sessions remotely.

"Nice to see you too, Catherine."

They give her a moment to get settled, watching as she opens her notebook and takes a sip of tea.

Eventually she looks up at them, placing both palms on her desk. "So, you've decided to get married."

They both smile widely, nodding.

"She said yes," Fitz adds in an unnecessary cliche, prompting Olivia to roll her eyes.

"Of course I did—"

"—eleven years later!"

Catherine chuckles as they tease good-naturedly, watching Olivia playfully elbow him in the side. "Alright, well, regardless of how long it took, you're here now."

"We are," Liv nods, tipping her head against his shoulder for a moment.

"So, I think we'll just jump right in. Normally when I'm starting any kind of pre-marital or couples' counseling, I start by asking the couple to tell me what they hope to gain from the sessions, both individually, and as a team. Fitz, since Olivia's already spent the past hour with me, why don't you go first?"

"Um, okay," he starts, clasping his hands together and leaning forward, "I guess, for me, I just want to make sure I'm always listening to her. That's something I've struggled with in the past, and I never want her to feel like I'm not hearing her. I want to be on top of that, I want to be better at it. And, I want to make sure I'm supporting her through anything she's going through, any way that she needs me to. And…yeah, I think those are the two biggest things for me."

"So, you want to be a better listener, and you want to know the best ways to support Olivia when she's struggling? Is that a good interpretation?"

"Yeah," he nods, glancing at Olivia to find her listening intently, a soft smile on her face.

"Olivia?"

Liv thinks for a moment, collecting her words.

"I…want to be an equal participant in our marriage. I don't want him to feel like he can't tell me something, or ask me something, because he doesn't know how I'll react, emotionally. I just want to be open with him, which, I have been working on—"

She glances at Fitz, who nods in agreement, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

"—but I'm not where I want to be yet."

Catherine scratches down a few notes, nodding slowly. "You want to be a better communicator overall."

"How is it that you can take our rambling and condense it down so well?" Fitz jokes, watching as Catherine laughs at him.

"It's a special skill," she deadpans, making them laugh, "Alright, now what about overall goals for your relationship?"

They glance at each other, somehow deciding without speaking that Fitz should start. "Well, I think we just want to keep our relationship as healthy as we possibly can. We don't have specific problems right now, but we've definitely dealt with issues in the past, mainly communication issues, and we don't want to go through that again."

"Definitely not. We've come a long way, but that doesn't mean things won't come up. I mean, if you think about it, we've been in love with each other for a long time, but we haven't really been _together_ consistently," Liv adds, looking over at him, "What would you say, maybe two or three years, if you add it all up?"

Fitz nods in agreement. "Something like that. But, hey, we've been living together full-time for almost two months and we haven't killed each other yet, that has to be a good sign, right?"

"It is a good sign," Catherine laughs, closing her notebook, "Look, the two of you have an incredible amount of history, more than most couples. But I think you're doing the right thing by taking your commitment to marriage seriously, and I don't think either of you are going into this with rose-colored glasses on. My intention is to treat your counseling like I would any other couple's, within reason of course. Are you on board for that?"

"We are," Liv confirms, squeezing Fitz's knee, looking to him as he nods in agreement.

"Great to hear," Catherine continues, "This first session is a bit of a freebee, it's mainly for me to get a sense of your goals and to give you some homework. I'm going to e-mail you a list of topics that I give to all of my couples, things that I think need to be discussed before marriage. Sometime between now and our next session, sit down and talk through each topic on the list. If things come up, we'll discuss them, if not, we'll move on. Sound good?"

* * *

 _ **The next day…**_

"The next thing I have is IKEA."

"What does that mean?"

"I mean, the next thing on this list is IKEA. It says 'Marriages are broken in the isles of IKEA every day.' Why are you laughing?"

They're on the couch in the loft, and she's lying perpendicular to him with her toes tucked beneath his thigh. It's storming again this evening and a fire is crackling in the woodstove for extra warmth, even though the house has boiler heat. They've printed the list of topics Catherine sent them and divided it up, taking turns reading out loud.

Fitz nearly falls over he's laughing so hard. "Because that's ridiculous, do you know what IKEA is?"

She gives him a blank stare and he laughs even harder, tipping his head back against the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes.

"It's this Scandinavian-based furniture store. Everything comes in at least forty pieces, and you have to put it together after you buy it."

"That sounds awful, why would anyone want to do that?"

"I don't know, I guess because it's pretty cheap."

Olivia contemplates this, trying to picture such a store. "Have you ever been to one? It sounds like a rite of passage, I mean, should we go?"

"No, I've never been, and apparently we definitely shouldn't go."

She giggles, flipping her piece of paper over. "Alright, well, number five is a non-starter because we're not going. Your turn."

"Favorite sex position."

"That is _not_ on there," she laughs, shoving him playfully with her foot, "And you already know the answer to that."

"I don't know if I do, actually. Seriously!"

Olivia eyes him skeptically. "You _really_ don't know?"

"I've always thought you really like everything we do, to be honest. At least I _hope_ you do, god, I've really had my head up my ass all these years if you don't."

His wording makes her giggle, and she crawls closer to him on the couch, kneeling beside him.

"Oh, I do. But if I had to choose?" she starts, lowering her voice ever so slightly, brushing her lips over his, "I really love when you're on top of me, I love being able to touch you and wrap myself around you. And I love being in your lap, it always feels so good when you're deep inside of me like that."

She presses a soft kiss to his lips and then moves back to her former position against the throw pillows, as if she hasn't just thoroughly aroused him with minimal effort. Fitz stares at her with parted lips, still shocked that she has that effect on him, that she's barely touched him, yet he feels like she's just given him a lap dance.

"So, the next topic I have is money—stop looking at me like that."

"Livvie," he groans, rubbing his hands over her calves like he wants to pull her closer.

" _You_ brought it up, _you_ wanted an answer, and now _you_ have to control yourself until we're finished," she smiles, enjoying the opportunity to tease him.

"Fine," he grumbles, although the smirk on his face betrays him, "What were you saying about money?"

"Right, money. I think we have a pretty good grasp on where we stand financially, don't you?"

"Yeah, I mean, we can sit down at some point and go over everything in detail, but, you know I've inherited family money, along with my earnings over the years. I own the house outright, and we don't use all that much in the way of utilities, so it doesn't cost us much to live here. I want to put your name on everything, and I need to sit down with a lawyer and add you to my will, all of that stuff—"

Olivia wrinkles her nose. "I don't want to talk about that."

"I know you don't, but we'll have to," he continues gently, unconsciously running his hand up toward her knee and back down again, "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, but someday I will."

"Fitz, stop—"

"Okay, okay, we can put a pin in it for now."

"Thank you," she breathes, "And that all sounds fine. I have my own investments, and my business of course. Like you said, we can talk details later, but we're both pretty comfortable, so, that makes things easy."

"Agreed," he nods, picking up his portion of the list, "My turn?"

"Yup," she nods, glancing out the windows, "Look at the wind, that's crazy."

"I know, they said it would be fifty or sixty miles per hour overnight. Oh, this next one is easy, 'kids'. One baby, maybe two, right?"

Her stomach drops.

Before he can look over and see the stricken look on her face, the power goes out.

"Shit," Fitz mutters, sitting up, "Wind must have knocked it out. Let me go check on the generator, I'll be right back."

He leaves her sitting in the dark, completely unaware of the fact that the conversation he's just brushed off is the one they need to have most of all.

* * *

 _ **7 Months Earlier…**_

" _Do you want kids?"_

 _They're having a more casual conversation today, a 'getting to know you' of sorts, Catherine had called it. She's not taking notes during this third session, and they're just talking to see what comes up, giving Olivia a chance to be more open._

 _She hesitates to answer, looking down at her lap._

 _When she looks back up, her eyes are clear, confident, and Catherine can almost see the thoughts swirling, begging to be released._

" _No, I don't."_

" _Why not?" Catherine asks, curiously, not an ounce of judgment in her voice._

 _Olivia shrugs. "I just…don't."_

" _Okay," she accepts easily, picking up her tea to take a sip._

 _There's more. She knows there is, and she allows silence to consume them for a few moments, waiting to see if Olivia will elaborate on her own._

" _I don't really like babies—"_

 **Ah, there we go.**

"— _I've never been one of those women who swoon over them," Olivia continues, "They make me uncomfortable, honestly."_

" _I don't think you're alone in that. There are lots of women who have more fun with their older children, or who don't really enjoy any children except their own."_

" _It's not just babies, though. I've just never had the—the desire, I guess, to raise a child. I was open to it, when I was younger, at least I tried to be. I kept waiting for that feeling, that biological clock that everyone talks about. I kept waiting to suddenly be overcome with the need to procreate, but it never happened. I wanted it to, I wanted to feel normal. For a while, I thought maybe I just hadn't met the right person, you know, everyone tells you that when you meet the right person you'll change your mind, right?"_

 _Catherine hums in agreement, nodding along, trying not to interrupt her patient's train of thought._

" _I met Edison, and we moved in together, and we were engaged. But, it just never came up. He never mentioned kids, and my feelings hadn't changed so I didn't bring it up either. Maybe if we'd gotten close to actually getting married it would have come up, but, it didn't work out. And so, I thought, okay, he wasn't 'that person' for me."_

 _They've obviously stumbled onto a topic with a lot of unresolved feelings, and Catherine is glad for it. The woman sitting in front of her carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, and anything that they're able to unpack and talk through is progress._

" _And what about Fitz?" Catherine asks, gently._

" _He used to talk about babies all the time," Olivia murmurs, eyes unexpectedly filling with tears, "When we first met…I've never loved anyone the way I love him. We wanted to be together so badly, and we couldn't, so we hung on to anything, any shred of connection we could create. When he started dreaming out loud about marrying me, and having babies, it all sounded so…simple. It sounded nice, and simple, and it was so comforting. So, I went along with it, and for a long time it was the only comfort I had during some really dark times."_

" _But you didn't really want children, still?"_

 _Olivia almost starts to cry, and Catherine can see that the swell of emotion has surprised her._

" _No," she whispers, "I didn't. I wanted Fitz, more than anything, but not a baby. I think I knew, deep down. But I never thought we would get our chance, and if we ever did, part of me still wondered if it would be okay, if having a child with him would change my mind. I wondered if I could do it, for him. And then I got pregnant."_

 _Catherine raises her eyebrows. "You did? When?"_

" _When we were together, when I was living in the White House. It was an accident, and I felt so…terrified. We were in such a bad place, and I panicked, for about a week. And then I miscarried. And I didn't feel sad. I was relieved. What kind of person loses a pregnancy and feels relieved?"_

" _The kind who feels trapped, and confused," Catherine says, answering the rhetorical question._

" _Sometimes I feel defective. I feel like I'm less of a woman or something, because I don't want to conceive with the love of my life. He's my soulmate, I know that with everything in me. He's 'that person', except apparently—"_

"— _ **Olivia**_ _. You are not 'less than' for not wanting children."_

 _She looks like she's been waiting to hear those words her entire life. Her expression is open, unguarded, and Catherine can feel the trust starting to develop._

" _I just—I feel like I can barely get through the day sometimes. I don't know that I would have anything left to offer a child. I know parenting is exhausting, and I'm already exhausted."_

 _Catherine looks at her with soft, sympathetic eyes. "Up until recently, you haven't even been able to care for_ _ **yourself**_ _emotionally, let alone other people. That's a product of your upbringing, it isn't your fault."_

" _Sometimes, I wonder if I would feel differently if I got pregnant now. Fitz and I…we're doing so well, he would be a great support system, and it would make him so happy—"_

" _Would it make_ _ **you**_ _happy? To shift your focus onto raising a child? Truthfully?"_

 _Olivia closes her eyes, trying and failing to push away what she knows to be true. "No. Fitz makes me happy. I want to focus on him, on being a good partner, on finally taking care of myself. That's the truth."_

" _Does Fitz know the truth? That you don't want to have a child?"_

" _No," she admits quietly, picking at her cuticle, "We haven't talked about it at all since we've been back together."_

" _How do you think he'll handle it, when you tell him?"_

 _Fear and apprehension twist her features when Olivia looks up again. "I don't know."_

* * *

 _ **Present - 4 Days Later…**_

She isn't sure how her apprehension over telling him she doesn't want children spirals into full-blown anxiety.

It happens the way a bout of anxiety often does, it sneaks up on her, and by the time Olivia realizes what's happened it's too late. Her judgment is already clouded, everything is already amplified, and it becomes a daily struggle just to tread water.

This anxiety is different than the acute attacks she experiences sometimes. This kind eats at her all day long, a constant, uncomfortable weight pressing on her. Some days it sits deep in her stomach, churning slowly, making her nauseous, and other days it creeps into her chest, pulling everything so tight that she can barely draw a full breath.

Dealing with anxiety while she's living with another person is harder than she'd imagined.

Being in this place, this dark, uncomfortable place is familiar to her, but her usual coping strategies aren't available anymore, and she's unprepared.

Typically, she uses avoidance to deal with it, but every time she looks at Fitz, she's reminded of what she isn't telling him, and it's devastating. She falls deep into her feelings of inadequacy, into her fear that once he knows he won't want her anymore, until her hands are shaking and she wants to crawl out of her own skin.

She starts working later, staying online with her team for an extra hour or two, until she can collect herself enough to put on a brave face. Choking down food becomes difficult at best, and nauseating at worst, but she learns to manage because she has to. If she stops eating, he'll know something is wrong. He'll make her talk about it.

She starts taking baths at night, locking him out of the bathroom for an hour of reprieve. An hour to breathe, to sit in the dark and decompress, to cry. She _hates_ crying, but she's suddenly so full of emotion, so alone and uncomfortable in her thoughts, that she can't help it.

There is no rational versus irrational in the throes of anxiety. She's at the mercy of her thoughts, and in her mind right now, she could _lose_ him over this.

She can't face that possibility. She has to push through, and she's drowning.

* * *

 _ **1 week later…**_

Olivia feels him press his body along her back, a warm palm sliding over her hip. He hums softly, pressing firm kisses across her shoulder, and her body aches for him immediately.

But she _can't_.

If she lets him make love to her, she's not going to be able to hide from him. He'll see how much she's struggling, and she's not ready to talk yet, she doesn't feel like she'll ever be ready.

"I started my period early," Liv sighs, taking the hand at her hip and lacing their fingers together.

It's a bold-faced lie, and one of the oldest excuses in the book at that.

Fitz stops kissing her shoulder, and the loss of his warm lips on her skin makes her want to cry.

"Oh, okay. Sorry, I didn't realize—"

"It's okay. I'm a little off schedule for some reason, that's all."

"You want tea or anything?" he murmurs, sliding his palm gently over her stomach, knowing she's usually a little queasy on the first day.

She's glad he can't see her, because her face burns with guilt and embarrassment. He's being his typical, sweet self, and she's lying through her teeth.

Olivia takes a deep breath, steeling herself for another lie. "I'm fine."

* * *

 _ **10 days later…**_

Something's going on with her.

Fitz isn't sure what it is, but he knows something is wrong.

He can feel her tossing and turning at night, and he knows she's not sleeping well.

She's distracted. He's caught her lost in thought on multiple occasions lately, and a few times, zoning out in the middle of a conversation, which _really_ isn't like her.

At first, he wonders if something's going on at work, but then she starts working more and more, holing up in the office later and later at night.

When she comes out to eat dinner with him, he watches her choke down whatever he's made, thinking he can't tell that she's doing it. He knows she has trouble eating when she's anxious, and as soon as he catches her dumping half a plate of food into the trash, his suspicions are confirmed.

 _ **What**_ _is going on though?_

He tries not to worry, tries to give her space to work through her feelings. Clearly, she wants to deal with it on her own, she doesn't want him to know and so, he pretends not to. He tries not to be hurt when she shies away from his affection, excuse after excuse, and eventually he gives her physical space too. It takes conscious effort to keep his hands off of her, because it's not their natural dynamic, but her body language reminds him every time.

On the fifth day after he'd noticed something off about her mood, he tries to go brush his teeth while she's taking a bath, and finds himself locked out.

She's never locked him out of the bathroom before, and he's not sure why it hurts so much, but it _does_.

The pattern continues for another week, every night she locks herself away for an hour, coming to bed quietly after, turning her back after a chaste good-night kiss.

Whatever it is she's dealing with, she doesn't want to talk about it, and it's driving a wedge between them.

* * *

 _ **2 weeks later…**_

Fitz hangs his jacket up and kneels down to give each of the dogs a treat, rewarding them for standing on the mat near the back door after a walk through the snow, waiting patiently while he finished towel-drying them.

The main floor of the house is dark, save for a swath of light in the hallway from the office, where Liv is still working. Fitz pauses at the bottom of the stairs, wondering if he ought to go check on her, but he decides against it. Whatever she's been going through lately, she hasn't wanted to talk about it and as much as it pains him, he knows that sometimes giving her space is the best thing he can do.

He shivers as he climbs the stairs in his socks, intent on a hot shower before bed. The door to their bathroom is nearly closed, but he doesn't think anything of it, pushing it open without preamble.

Olivia gasps, and they both startle in surprise, neither aware that they weren't alone.

Fitz stops in his tracks when he finds her sitting on the edge of the bathtub in her robe, tears sliding down her face.

"Hi, I didn't realize you were back," she rasps, quickly clearing her throat and trying to discretely swipe her palms over her wet cheeks.

When he takes a step toward her she turns her face away, clearly trying to hide the fact that she's crying, and his heart breaks.

"I didn't mean to sneak up on you," he says gently, coming closer.

She stands and tries to slip past him, smiling tightly through her tears, but he can't ignore what's right in front of him and he moves to block her path. "Hey, don't. Come here."

Gently taking her by the shoulders he slowly brings her back to face him. Her eyes are closed, her expression defeated, and everything in him just wants to help her.

"Olivia…"

She shakes her head, refusing to look at him.

"I don't want to push you, but you're scaring me. Please talk to me, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

A fresh wave of tears wells up and spills over when he calls her that, because he _never_ does, only when he _knows_ something is wrong.

Internally, she's at war with herself, with the two versions of her psyche.

Her former self has been winning lately, and it's been two weeks of pushing him away, of giving in to the voice that's telling her to be scared of his reaction, that _this_ will be the thing that finally drives him away. At the same time, there's a part of her that knows better. There's another voice telling her that they've come so far, that he'll love her and want her no matter what, that she should trust him. There's a part of her that wants nothing more than to tell him everything, to let him hold her and make everything okay again.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me," Fitz tells her quietly, dipping his head down, trying to get her to meet his eyes, "You can tell me, or—do you want to call Catherine at home? We have her emergency number. I really think you should talk abo—"

"I don't want to have kids."

She blurts it out and looks at him all at once, her eyes wide and scared.

His eyebrows go up at her sudden confession, because that's not at _all_ what he'd expected her to say.

"Oh," he breathes, softly.

"And I know we're supposed to know how to talk to each other now, and I'm not supposed to feel like I need to keep things from you, but I haven't known how to tell you—"

"Okay, c'mere," he interrupts gently, pulling her into a hug, desperate to soothe away the breathless, sobbing quality her voice has taken on.

His hand traces a warm path up and down her spine as she hugs him back, sinking into his arms.

"Don't cry, Livvie, you're killing me. Calm down, before we talk, okay? One minute."

Fitz is shocked to feel her bury her face in his shoulder and cry openly for a moment, as if he's just given her permission to let it all go. His brow furrows and he holds her tighter, rubbing her back until she's calm.

It feels like it's been forever since she's let him hold her like this, since she's let him hug her. The invisible wall that's been building between them over the past couple weeks crumbles as she lays her head on his shoulder, and he turns his face into her hair, breathing deeply.

Finally, she pulls back to look at him, wiping tear tracks from beneath her eyes. His expression is a mixture of sadness and confusion, but she's relieved that he doesn't seem angry with her.

They stand quietly together for a few moments, and he watches her collect herself. She hates crying, and he can see how much it's taken out of her, but they _have_ to talk about this.

"C'mon," he says quietly, offering her his hand, "Lets go talk."

There's a window bench in their bedroom, tucked into the corner and piled with pillows, and he guides her over to it. They sit down next to each other and he waits, watching her carefully until she finally looks up and makes eye contact with him.

" _Why_ have you been pretending to want kids?" he asks, incredulously.

Olivia winces and he knows he's being direct, maybe a bit harsh, but he feels betrayed by her lie, frustrated that they're still having these conversations.

"I—" she starts, taking a breath, "I've, um—"

He reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing it gently, softening his expression. "Just talk to me, it's okay. I'm just confused."

She looks up at him again, and he gives her what he hopes is a reassuring look, desperately wanting to know what's going on in her head.

Finally, _finally_ , she breathes deeply and starts to talk.

Fitz drinks in every word, listening intently while she recounts one of her first sessions with Catherine. She lets the words spill out, explaining her feelings of inadequacy, her desperate need for comfort during all of their years apart, and her inherent aversion to having children.

"I wish I could give you a specific reason," she explains, "But I don't have a concrete answer as to why, I didn't have some kind of epiphany about it, I just know that it doesn't feel right, I _know_. I don't feel empty, I don't feel like anything is 'missing'. I love you and I love our life together, and that's where I want to focus my energy, on being a good partner to you."

"Liv, why didn't you just tell me that?" he implores, raking his fingers through his hair, "I've been tiptoeing around you for two weeks, thinking you were going through something that had nothing to do with me."

Olivia shrugs sadly, helplessly. "You've always wanted the whole package, and I just thought…I'm worried that I won't be enough, without kids, just you and I—"

"—you've been thinking that I wouldn't want to be with you if you didn't agree to have a baby?" he interrupts, shocked that she could think that.

"I wasn't sure—"

"I want _you_ ," he breathes, cupping her face in his hands, "You are more than enough for me. You are more incredible than anyone I could've ever dreamed that I wanted, do you know that?"

Her eyes fill with tears of relief, chin trembling. "Really?"

Fitz kisses her then, fiercely, because he doesn't know how else to tell her. He tries to show her instead, pouring everything into his kisses, biting and sucking at her lips, tangling his tongue with hers. She's frozen, caught off guard, but after a second she matches his fervor, hands grasping his forearms, sliding into his hair. They kiss until they can't breathe, until some of the frenetic energy between them has burned up.

"Do you feel that?" he whispers, panting into her mouth, her chest heaving against his, " _That_ is how much I love you. There aren't words big enough for it."

She can feel it, can see it too, reflected in his eyes.

"I know that," she murmurs, pressing one last soft kiss to his lips, "We wouldn't have made it this far if we didn't love each other the way we do. When I get anxious about something, it just takes _over_ —"

"I know," he soothes, pulling her into a hug, "I knew you were going through something but I had no idea it was this."

Her arms tighten around his neck, and they're quiet for a moment, re-connecting.

"I want you to tell me the truth, too, though," she murmurs, starting to pull out of his arms, "Are you really okay with this? Kids are part of your dream for our life together, and I don't want you to wind up resenting me down the road because we couldn't agree on this."

Fitz grimaces as if she's physically hurt him. "God, Liv, I would never—okay, here's the truth. I would love to have a baby with you. I _have_ dreamt about it. But I don't want it if _you_ don't. If I felt like I forced you into it and then you ended up resenting _me_? I couldn't live like that, I would never do that."

"Are you sure?" she asks, her voice soft and hesitant.

"I want _you_ ," he emphasizes again, "I might—this will take some time to process, but I want to build a life that we both want. So if something's not right for you, it's not right for me. Listen, reverse the situation. Imagine that you wanted to have a baby and I didn't. Is that something you would force me into? Is it something you would leave me over?"

Olivia thinks for a second, trying to wrap her mind around that scenario.

"I would never leave you," she admits, shaking her head slightly.

"And so do you see how crazy that must sound to me? I would never leave you either, I'm not going to leave you. The whole idea of having kids with you, actually—I think…I think what I really want is a do-over."

"What do you mean?"

"I want a do-over. I want to go back and meet you sooner, I want us to have been married for twenty years already, with three kids, two dogs, and a parakeet. I want you to have been my First Lady, I want a do-over. And I feel guilty for wanting that because there are things about my life that I wouldn't change for the world, like my kids. But it's so…painful, sometimes, to think about the fact that we—we can't have those things, that there are things we've missed out on."

"We can't do that, though," she murmurs, "We can't go back. Things have happened this way for a reason."

"I know, but I want to sometimes."

Fitz wraps an arm around her and pulls her close, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"I have a headache," she mumbles, pressing on her temples.

He moves a hand to the back of her neck, massaging the tight muscles there. "You didn't eat dinner," he reminds her gently.

"I can't eat right now," she breathes, and it's such a _relief_ to be able to tell him that, to not have to hide anymore.

"Well, if you won't let me feed you, can I at least get this knot out of your shoulder? You're so tense," he jokes, pulling a tiny laugh out of her.

He's trying to bring lightness to the situation, but when she looks up at him, she can see how badly he wants to help her, how much she's hurt him by pushing him away.

Olivia cups his cheek with her palm, kissing him softly. Her eyes warm and she turns away, loosening her robe so that it drops down to expose her shoulders and upper back, offering the expanse of bare skin to him.

His palms are warm, gentle but firm as they glide over her soft skin, massaging in broad squeezes before his thumbs press into the tender knot just above her shoulder blade. She hisses, shoulders bunching in pain.

"Shh, relax. Just give me a few minutes, I'll get it," he murmurs.

She takes a breath, giving in to the pressure of his hands, letting her shoulders come down.

"I know, I trust you."

* * *

 _ **The next day…**_

"So, let me get this straight."

They're sitting in their second couples' therapy session, attempting to explain the last two weeks to Catherine, and it feels like they're sitting in the principal's office.

"Olivia, for the past two weeks, you avoided telling Fitz that you don't want to have children? You've been in a constant state of anxiety for two weeks?"

"Um…yes?" Liv admits, sheepishly.

"And _you_ ," she accuses, turning her gaze on Fitz, who jumps slightly in his chair, "You knew she was struggling? And you didn't say anything? For two weeks?"

"I—well, I was giving her space—"

"That's a yes or no question, Fitz."

Fitz's eyes widen under her intense stare. "Yes—I, I mean, no, I didn't say anything."

They watch as Catherine massages her temples, glancing at each other nervously as she mutters under her breath.

" _You two are gonna drive me crazy, I can already tell_ —Okay," she sighs finally, leaning back in her chair, "Olivia, why did you feel like you couldn't share your feelings with Fitz? I'm talking very basic reasons here."

"I was afraid," Olivia admits quietly, "I was afraid of his reaction, what he might say. I didn't want to hurt him."

"Why didn't you want to hurt him?"

Olivia is accustomed to Catherine's peculiar questions at this point. "Because…I love him, I never want to hurt him."

"Mmm-hmm, right, and Fitz, same question, why did you feel like you couldn't ask Olivia why she was upset?"

"I…I didn't want to push her if she wasn't ready to talk, I wanted to give her space to work through it on her own."

"What would've happened? If you pushed her before she was ready?"

Fitz, on the other hand, isn't familiar with having his actions examined and shifts uncomfortably. "Well, I thought—I thought she might get even more upset if I did that."

"Why don't you want her to be upset?"

"Because I love her," he sighs, realizing where Catherine's led them.

"Do you both see what happened? You each allowed the situation to escalate based on the fact that you love each other, and the assumption that if you _didn't_ allow it to escalate, you would hurt the other person. Do you know what that's called?"

They shake their heads negatively, waiting for her diagnosis.

"That's called being _stupidly_ in love."

It takes a second before they realize she's poking fun at them, but when they realize it all three of them start to laugh, releasing some tension.

"Your biggest problem as a couple, is how deeply you care for each other," Catherine smiles, her eyes teasing, "I want you to keep that in mind as we pick this apart, because that is a wonderful problem to have."

* * *

That night, Fitz stretches out on the bed when he hears her start to draw a bath, picking up the book he's been reading.

It takes him a second to realize the water has stopped running, and she's standing in the bathroom doorway, watching him quietly. When he looks up at her, Olivia makes eye contact immediately and it makes him smile, a welcome change from the past two weeks. She smiles back and takes a few steps toward him, wordlessly extending her hand.

* * *

Fitz settles her in his lap and tugs her up against him, making sure there's enough pressure where they're both starting to ache, hips unconsciously rocking and pressing together.

The water laps gently against the sides of the tub as she shifts, threading her hands into his hair, sighing in contentment, opening her mouth a bit wider for his tongue to slide against hers.

Kissing him is one of her favorite things. The first time they'd had sex, she remembers being completely undone by just how much kissing him had turned her on. It's the ultimate indulgence, running her hands over him while they fit their mouths together over and over, lazy and unhurried.

"I haven't taken a bath in a while," he murmurs, hands tracing a torturously slow path from her hips, up her back, and down again, "Water's nice."

Olivia hums in agreement. "There's something calming about it isn't there?"

"I can see why you like it so much."

She presses a few more soft kisses against his mouth and then pulls back, content to let him stroke her skin, enjoying the quiet intimacy.

"I missed you," he admits softly, trailing his lips across her chest, over the tops of her breasts, "You were here, but you weren't _here_."

Olivia sighs, cupping the back of his neck to encourage the slow, firm pressure of his kisses. "I'm here," she whispers, fingers teasing over his ears.

"You know, even if you aren't going through something, it's okay if you want to be alone sometimes," he says softly, looking at her earnestly, "You don't have to hide that from me, you can tell me."

Taking a deep breath, she nods slowly, playing with the wet curls at the nape of neck. "I've never really shared space with anyone like this before. I lived with Edison, but we worked so much, we were barely home. I love being here with you, and I want to be here with you, it's just—"

"—it can be a lot, even for us."

" _Yes_ ," she breathes, relieved that he understands.

"And that's _fine_ , Livvie. You can tell me, you're not gonna hurt my feelings, I'm a big boy," he teases gently, earning himself a smile, "I'd rather you tell me you need to take a bath by yourself, than just lock the door with no explanation. Heck, I might be the one telling you I need to go for a hike, or go snowboarding with the guys. Would that hurt your feelings?"

"No," she admits, sighing, "You're right, I'm just…I'm new at this."

"It's new for both of us. But we'll figure it out," he murmurs, running a finger down the bridge of her nose affectionately.

She nuzzles her nose beside his, lightly grazing their lips together, moaning softly when his hands slide down to cup her ass. His breath catches as her hand drifts down to circle his erection, gently stroking while her tongue swirls against his pulse point.

They've been kindling a slow burn since they stepped into the tub, but before he lets things go any further he has one more thing he needs to ask her. It takes all of his mental strength to make the words come out, because her hand feels so good, she's wet and slippery _everywhere_ , and she's making the sexiest little noises as she kisses his neck.

"Wait," he rasps, trying to stop his hips from involuntarily flexing up into her hand, "Wait, I—woman, _stop_ for a second."

She smiles against his mouth, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Feel good, baby?"

Fitz chuckles darkly, reaching down to pull her hand away. "You're going to kill me."

"Goodness, well, I don't wanna do _that_ ," she whispers, rocking her hips forward.

He kisses her languidly, cupping her face when he pulls back, expression sobering.

"I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest, okay?"

"Okay," she answers quietly, her mood calming to match his.

"Do you _really_ want to get—"

"I want to marry you," Liv interrupts softly, with no hesitation, "I want to be your wife. That's…that hasn't changed."

Relief floods his features at the conviction in her voice, the warmth in her eyes, and he nods once, touching their noses together.

Her hand circles him again. "Can I make love to you now?" she sasses, rising up onto her knees, rubbing his tip against her entrance.

"God, yes," he groans, hands squeezing around her hips as she sinks down onto him.

* * *

 **A/N: HUGE thanks to my brain twin and beta reader extraordinaire iWrite4Olitz for all of her support while I was writing this chapter (psst, she has a new fic, check it out if you haven't yet!). You guys, this one almost killed me, and they still have MORE to work through based on what went down in this chapter. It will spill over into the next one, for sure, so if you have any lingering questions, stay tuned (Fitz, in particular, isn't quite done with this topic ;-)). Thank you so much for reading, and for your support of this story! Let me know what you thought :-)**


	16. Chapter 15

_**A/N: I knowww, it's been 84 years! I didn't forget about this story, my muse just took a little break. But it came back!**_

* * *

 _ **April 2020 - Washington D.C.**_

"Liv, you're fine, up to your right there's—"

Before she can reach for the next grip, she loses her footing and screams as she starts to fall.

But as quick as it happens, he's caught her, putting tension on the harness to belay her slowly down to the ground. He waits until she gets her footing, then lets some slack back into the rope, letting her stand freely.

"You okay?" Fitz asks, watching as she settles her hands on her hips, breathing hard.

She's slipped off the wall before, but not from that height, and he waits to see how she'll handle it.

After a moment she starts to laugh, wiping sweat from her forehead. " _Shit_."

"Yeah, that first one is rough," he grins, pulling her into his side, pressing a kiss against her temple, "I've got you, you're not gonna go anywhere."

She smiles and nods at him, still catching her breath. "I know, I trust you."

"You want to try again?"

Olivia takes a deep breath, eyeing the huge wall in front of her with determination. "Yeah, but show me where I slipped, and which grip you were talking about."

He points out the spot where she'd slipped, talking her through the section of grips, watching as she starts to climb again. She does fine until she gets to the same section, something about the spacing of everything throwing her off.

"I feel like I just can't see, I can't tell what I can reach and what I can't," she yells, testing a few paths.

"I have a _great_ view from down here," he calls, grinning mischievously.

She laughs loudly, adjusting her left foot. "Shut up! I'm trying to concentrate."

"You can reach that blue one, you're just second guessing yourself. Just—yeah! You've got it."

Coaching her through a couple more sections, he watches her get closer and closer to the top, whooping when she finally gets there.

"See?!" he yells, "I knew you could do this wall."

"Now what?"

He braces himself, adjusting his grip on the rope. "Now, you let go, I've got you."

Slowly, she lets go of the wall, settling back into her harness so he can lower her to the ground. He lets her fall the last couple of feet on purpose, laughing when she squeaks, shoving him as soon as she gains her footing.

"Jerk," she grins, unclipping herself.

"We'll have you top roping in the canyon in no time," he teases, helping her unhook everything.

Liv groans, stretching her arms. "I let you talk me into this, I don't know about real rocks."

"We'll work up to it," he smiles, pulling her against him.

"You know," she murmurs, "The thing about these rock climbing dates is that we can't really go to dinner afterward. We're too sweaty."

He nuzzles his nose against hers, humming lowly. "Hmm. You're right. We'll have to think of something else to do."

* * *

She gasps as her bare back comes into contact with the cold tile, moaning into his mouth, giggling when he growls and drags her nipple between his teeth.

" _Ooh_ … _easy_ ," she breathes, smiling and arching as he bites her.

Fitz trails his tongue up her neck, licking a path through the water droplets. "Can't…you're too delicious."

Her earlobe ends up between his teeth this time and he sucks on it, nipping and moaning.

She trails her hands down his back, over his ass, fingers teasingly dipping into the space between his cheeks to make his hips jump against her. He nuzzles his face into her neck when her hands slide around, massaging his hip creases, thumbs pressing teasingly close to the base of his cock. Reaching behind him, she clicks the showerhead over to a harder setting and he groans, taking a step forward.

"Feel good on your back, baby?" she murmurs, trailing her fingertips up and down his sides.

He murmurs his approval, lulled into bliss by her voice, her hands, and the water.

Kissing over his chest, she keeps massaging his hips, trailing her lips lower and lower until she's on her knees in front of him. She glances up to see if he'll stop her, but he's completely relaxed, looking down at her with hooded eyes.

His erection is silky and firm against her tongue when she takes him inside her mouth, sucking at the head to make him groan. She starts out slow, gently tracing the thick vein on the underside, teasing the sensitive skin on the sides.

It doesn't take her long to get him close to the edge, doing all of the things she knows he likes best, humming around him.

"Fuck, wait, I'm gonna come," he pants, taking a step away from her, helping her up off of the shower floor, "Oh… _fuck_ …"

He sounds tortured, burying his face in her shoulder, breathing hard.

"Shh," she murmurs, kissing his neck, "Let me, okay? _Relax_ , I want you to."

Before he can stop her, she's back on her knees, his cock is back in her mouth, and he _can't_ protest because he's too far gone.

His reluctance in letting her go down on him has been so consuming that he's actually never come in her mouth before, and when he finally does it's _divine_. His hips jerk into the hot, wet pressure, and he feels her move with him as he finishes with a long moan, bracing a hand against the wall. She carries him all the way through his orgasm, gentling her mouth as he comes down, thumbs stroking over his hips. After a few minutes he pulls her up and turns her around, burying his face in her neck while he finishes catching his breath, wrapping her up in his arms.

She tips her head back, discretely swallowing a mouthful of water before she turns around, but he doesn't hesitate to kiss her, hugging her close.

"That was incredible, thank you," he whispers, kissing her slowly, backing them further into the spray of hot water.

He immediately nudges her back against the wall, lifting her foot to rest on the seat in the corner, opening her up to him. Her breath catches as he presses his middle finger inside her, her arms wrapping around his neck.

A second finger easily slips in to join the first, and he dips his mouth to her neck, fucking her lazily. She moans and rests her head against the wall, rocking her hips, tangling her fingers in his wet curls.

" _Fitz…Fitz…_ "

* * *

Curling into his side in their hotel bed, she cuddles in close, rubbing moisturizer into her hands.

"This was a good idea, getting out of the mountains for a few days," she sighs, laying her head on his chest.

"Right? It's nice I think. It's nice in the mountains too, but it can be a little bit isolating."

"It definitely can," she yawns, "And this way we get to see Catherine in person, that will be nice."

They're quiet for a few minutes, the television playing softly in the background.

"How do you think we're doing? With the whole therapy thing?"

Liv glances up at him. "Umm, I think we're doing fine. We're not supposed to talk about it."

"No, I know, we're supposed to compartmentalize time to work on our relationship and time to enjoy each other. I'm just—I really like sitting and getting to talk things out with you. I don't want to stop."

She props herself up on his chest, flipping a curl away from her face. "I'm not going to quit therapy, don't worry about that. I can really feel how much it's been helping, I'm not going to stop just because things have gotten…hard. Okay?"

He nods, angling his face down to kiss her. "Good."

* * *

 _ **The Next Day…**_

"What happens if you get pregnant?"

They're sitting on opposite ends of the sofa in Catherine's office, and Fitz crosses his arms defensively.

"What do you mean?" Olivia asks quietly, her eyes clouding with apprehension.

He's _angry_ today.

As soon as they'd crossed the threshold into Catherine's office, he'd started brooding, opening his other compartment, so to speak. She's glad that they have space to explore these feelings, especially when they're uncomfortable, but she hates that he's mad at her.

"We were using birth control the last time you got pregnant, and you're still on the same pill. What's to say you won't accidentally get pregnant again? Should we start using condoms or something? What happens if you get pregnant?"

"Well, I—"

"Should we just stop having sex? That's the only way to ensure we _definitely_ won't make a baby."

She's taken aback by his tone, and she looks at Catherine, who is watching them carefully. "Is he allowed to talk to me like that?"

"He's allowed to express himself in any way he chooses, so long as no physical violence is involved, and the same goes for you," Catherine says softly, toying with her pen.

"Well do I have to answer?"

Catherine shrugs. "You don't have to do anything. But if you want to validate his feelings, I'd suggest that you try to answer any question he poses, regardless of his tone."

"Can we stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Fitz scoffs, "It's a little boring for me."

"I'm sorry, is therapy not what you expected?" Olivia snaps, turning to him, "Were you thinking this was going to be easy? Do you think I've been laughing and relaxing during all of these sessions?"

Fitz sighs, his posture relaxing slightly. "Of course not. I know you've been working hard, I wasn't…I'm—"

He pauses, looking meaningfully at Catherine. "I _feel_ —"

She stifles a laugh, nodding in approval.

"—I feel frustrated. I'm not in a good place today, because I started thinking about this."

"About what would happen if Olivia accidentally became pregnant?" Catherine clarifies.

"Yes. Which is why I'm asking you," he turns back to Olivia, "What would you do? If you were pregnant?"

Olivia takes a deep breath, looking down at her lap, taking a moment to think.

"I don't know," she says finally, looking up at him.

"Would you have an abortion?"

"I don't know—"

"It's a yes or no question."

"I don't—I don't know."

"What does that mean? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I don't know! I don't know the answer to that, it's a hypothetical situation!"

"Well, I need to know, Liv. I need to know what the plan is."

"Olivia," Catherine chimes in, "Are you okay to explore this, as a hypothetical?"

Liv sighs, shifting uncomfortably. "I guess so. I haven't really thought about it, I just need a minute."

"That's fine. Let's try to find our patience, shall we?" Catherine continues, looking at Fitz.

He nods reluctantly, conceding, sitting back in his chair.

They all wait while Olivia collects her thoughts, sitting in silence.

"I don't know if I could have an abortion," she says, finally.

They both look at her, waiting to see if she'll elaborate.

"You don't know if you _could_ ," Catherine reiterates, "Because…?"

"Because I know how much that would hurt you," she explains, looking at Fitz, "If I were going to have an abortion, I would need to know that you were okay with it. I'd want you there with me, we'd have to do it together. On the one hand, it's my body, and it would ultimately be my decision. But on the other hand, I love you, and I respect you, and it would be _our_ baby. I wouldn't want to just shut you out of something like that."

Fitz takes a deep breath, absorbing her explanation. "That's…not really what I expected you to say."

"What? You thought I would just run out and have an abortion without telling you? That's how little you think of me?"

"No, god, Olivia," he sighs, leaning forward, scrubbing his hands over his face, "That's not what I said. I'm glad that you would let me have a say, I'm just—I thought maybe you wouldn't. And I'd respect your right not to, although you're right, it would hurt."

They eye each other carefully, treading lightly.

"You really wanted a baby, didn't you?" she asks softly, looking at him sadly.

"Yeah," he admits, nodding his head, "I did. I wanted to do that with you."

"Are you struggling with the fact that you won't get to realize that dream, Fitz?" Catherine asks, sensing an opportunity to draw him out a bit, "It's okay if you are, it's only natural."

"No, I—I guess I am, but I don't want to put that on her."

"Why not? She's your partner."

"I don't want you to feel guilty," he says, turning to Liv again, "I don't want you to feel guilty for your decision, because it wouldn't be fair of me to try to force something on you that you don't want. I've learned that the hard way. But at the same time it's hard, because I _am_ still processing this."

"You told me you were okay with it," Olivia replies carefully, "You told me that you didn't want it if I didn't, why did you say that?"

"Because I meant it. I don't want to have a child if you don't want to, that would be awful. But that doesn't mean that I'm not—I—it's complicated, you're trying to make it simple, and it's not."

"I'm not trying to minimize your feelings, I'm just trying to understand."

"Hang on, hang on a second," Catherine steps in, getting their attention, "Let's slow down, we've gotten away from the original question, but let's clarify this first. Liv, he's telling you that he has mixed feelings about not having children. Why do you think you're having a hard time with that?"

Olivia opens her mouth and closes it again, blanching the way she sometimes does when she _knows_ Catherine can somehow hear her deepest, innermost fears.

"You know what I'm getting at," Catherine says softly, "We've talked about it before."

Liv takes a deep breath, shaking her head and looking down into her lap. "I guess I don't—I don't understand why this isn't a deal-breaker for you."

"A deal-breaker?" he asks, confused, "What are you talking about?"

"Why are you so patient with me?" she finally blurts out, exasperated, "Don't you get tired of doing this? You could be with someone so much mor—"

He leans over and silences her with a kiss, uncaring that Catherine is watching them.

"I don't ever want to hear you say anything like that again, _I love you_. Do you believe me when I say that?"

"Olivia, are you really _hearing_ him? Look at him, and try to hear him. And then answer him, just be honest."

Olivia forces herself to keep eye contact with him when he says he loves her again, and the emotion of it makes it hard to breath.

"I want to believe you. I want to do this with you so badly, I want to be a good partner," she breathes, hot tears sliding down her face, "But I feel like I'm not going to be any good at it, I feel like an imposter. I feel like you just haven't realized how screwed up I am yet, and as soon as you do—"

"Liv—"

"I know it's irrational, I _know_ that. But I can't shake that feeling sometimes."

"Why do you think I'd leave you after all this time? After everything we've been through?" Fitz asks, helplessly, trying to understand.

"Because everyone does."

"Who in your life has left you? Maybe it's not as clear for Fitz as it is for you, so tell him. Help him understand," Catherine encourages gently.

Liv swallows, looking down into her lap again.

"Stephen," she starts, quietly, "He was my—I really relied on him, emotionally, after I left the White House, and he quit."

Fitz isn't entirely familiar with her early team. He knows Stephen was one of her best friends from law school, and that they'd remained close, close enough that Stephen had gone out of his way to save her a few years ago.

"It wasn't a romantic thing," she explains unnecessarily, "We were just…he was my friend."

Her voice is so soft and sad, he's not sure he's ever seen this side of her before, and it breaks his heart.

"Harrison. He didn't leave by choice but, he left too. Abby, she left to work at the White House. And I know I had a hand in that, I left first, but…I could never really put the pieces of my team—my _family_ back together after that, so…how strong could we have been in the first place?"

It's hard for him to sit and watch her get more and more upset, even though he's hanging on her every word.

"My dad," she continues, clearing her throat, "I always felt so alone growing up, because he just wasn't there. I felt like I didn't even _have_ a father."

"He emotionally abandoned you," Catherine supplies, helping her with the words, "The feeling is the same, more painful, even."

"My mom," Liv whispers, her voice cracking.

She stops for a moment, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. He's been listening intently up until this point, but he can't just sit there and watch her break apart. He pulls her close and wraps his arm around her waist, letting her settle gratefully against his side.

"My mom left me, like it was _nothing_. She never looked back. She didn't even come back until she needed something from me, and even then—" She shakes her head, "She never had any intention of staying in my life. She used me."

He absently rubs her back, trying to comfort her in any way he can.

"And it just makes me wonder, you know?" she whispers, finally looking up at him, "What's wrong with me? What am I doing wrong that no one can stand to be around me?"

"There is _nothing_ wrong with you," he breathes, "The fact that you're even worried that everything is your fault, shows that it's _not_ your fault."

"Olivia, you're going to feel so much more secure in these sessions if you can start to understand something," Catherine breaks in, waiting until they both look at her, "Fitz loves you unconditionally, and I think he's the only person in your life to truly show you what that looks like. For most people, that example starts with their parents, but you, unfortunately, didn't have that example. The fact that you have a hard time trusting his love for you is _not_ your fault."

Pieces start to click together in Fitz's mind, all of the times she's run from him, her constant struggle to open up and be vulnerable with him…

"Is that true?" she asks him softly, looking up at him with big, glassy eyes.

"Is it true that I love you unconditionally? Of course it's true," he breathes, taking her hand, "That's why not having kids isn't a deal-breaker. It's something that I still need to talk about, and process, but I know it's how you really feel and I'm not going to try to change you. I love every part of you, Liv. You've spent so much time being strong, for other people, for yourself. And you're still hiding pieces of yourself from me because you're so afraid that if I really see you, I won't like what I see. We need to be weak with each other, _for_ each other, that's how we get stronger. You're the love of my life. I'm gonna love you no matter what, nothing is going to change that."

Her chin is trembling by the time he's stopped talking, and the only thing he can do is pull her into a hug and hold her.

"Did you hear me that time?" he whispers, tightening his arms around her.

She nods against his shoulder. "I hear you. I love you too."

Part of moderating couples' therapy is knowing when to step back and when to step in, and right now Catherine steps back, letting them have a moment. She watches them hold each other, momentarily overwhelmed by their obvious bond, and the amount of love she can sense between them. She's never counseled a couple as deeply connected and loving as these two, and she internally scolds herself for getting so invested.

"I think we can stop there for today," Catherine interrupts quietly, standing up briefly to hand Olivia a box of tissues.

She gives them a few more minutes to collect themselves, busying herself with some notes.

"We've made some wonderful progress today, I'm so proud of both of you," Catherine smiles, closing her notebook, "This is heavy stuff we're discussing, and I know I've been encouraging you to compartmentalize, but it's alright if you can't sometimes, okay? So tonight, I want you to make sure you spend some time together, do something you enjoy. It doesn't have to involve talking, you can enjoy a meal together, it can be some simple touch, or sex, whatever you feel like."

"Did our therapist just tell us to have sex?" Fitz stage whispers, leaning in to her.

His comment has its desired effect and Olivia laughs, tipping her head against his shoulder.

* * *

Olivia listens as the shower turns off, not moving from her place on the couch in their suite, staring at nothing.

She's _exhausted_.

Exhausted from talking, from listening, from crying. They're supposed to be finding a way to connect with each other tonight, but she barely has the energy to keep her eyes open.

She startles when music fills the room.

 _And you got me like,_ _ **oh**_

 _What you want from me?_

He's attached his phone to the speaker dock on the end table, and he's standing there in his plaid pajama bottoms, looking at her with tired eyes.

 _Baby, you got me like_ _ **oh**_ _, mmm_

Holding out his hand, he takes a step toward her, smiling gently, beckoning her to join him. She returns his smile, going to him, stepping into his arms. He pulls her in close, taking one of her hands and wrapping the other around her waist, palm settling low on her back. Her eyes close automatically, her cheek resting against his chest as they start to slowly sway to the music.

 _Baby, you got me like,_ _ **ah**_

 _Don't you stop loving me_

 _Don't quit loving me_

 _Just start loving me, babe_

His skin is warm and soft against her cheek, and he smells so good from his shower. He's solid against her body, so strong and _safe_ as he rocks them in slow circles, pressing into her back so that she can just _melt_ against him.

 _No matter what I do_

 _I'm no good without you_

 _And I can't get enough_

 _Must be love on the brain_

Fitz nuzzles his nose into her hair, keeping firm pressure against her lower back so that she stays close. She's soft and pliable in his arms, leaning some of her weight against him, trusting him to hold her up. He takes a long inhale, breathing her in, feeling himself relax even further as her free hand starts to rub up and down his bare back.

 _Then you keep loving me_

 _Just love me, yeah_

 _Just love me_

 _All you need to do is love me, yeah_

She lets go of his hand, wrapping her arms around his neck, bringing his forehead down to hers. He settles both of his hands at her lower back, pulling their hips together again. They dance that way until the song ends, breathing the same air, letting their physical connection fill in the gaps where there just aren't any words.

When the song trails off, she exhales against his mouth, bringing both hands to cup his neck.

"Make love to me," she murmurs, kissing him softly.

He smiles softly, palming her hips. "Yeah?"

"Doctor's orders," she grins, taking his hand.

* * *

 **A/N: The song they danced to is 'Love on the Brain', by Rihanna. THANK YOU for sticking with this story! Leave me a review and tell me your thoughts!**


	17. Chapter 16

**A/N: These two have been through a lot lately, so I decided to give them a nice, fluffy break. Enjoy :-)**

* * *

 **April 2020 –** _Dillon, Colorado_

Morning in the Rocky Mountains begins quietly. Below the tree line, the woods are slow to wake up, cool and silent before the sun rises. Evergreen needles can't rustle, chipmunks and rabbits stay burrowed, and even the rush of a creek seems muffled. But as soon as the sun peeks over snow-capped mountain crests, life starts to emerge. Crystal blue skies are suddenly dotted with birds, and wildlife start to crunch through the underbrush. The air is pure, cleansing, pine-scented, and heavenly.

People who live deep in the Rockies seek a certain kind of peace, the sort that only _this_ kind of beauty can provide.

Who are they?

Perhaps, a simple _country_ man, someone who's lived there his whole life and can't imagine leaving.

A family trying to raise carefree, independent children with a deep respect for nature.

Or maybe, two lovers who are finally free to love, to exist, to _be_.

* * *

On this particular morning, the sun is already high and bright when Olivia blinks her eyes open, realizing that he's trying to wiggle closer to her.

"You're like a Great Dane, do you know that?" she yawns, shifting as he fits his big body into her arms.

He hums deep and soft, pillowing his head against her breasts, throwing his arm across her hips. "Like to cuddle you. You're soft, and you smell good."

She chuckles quietly at his simple, sleepy response, stroking her fingers through his hair. He purrs, sighing deeply.

"Maybe a big cat is more appropriate," she murmurs, trailing her hand down his spine, back up into his hair.

His whole body shakes with a yawn and he stretches his arms, settling back down with another big sigh. It makes her smile, warmth enveloping her as they enjoy the simple pleasure of waking up slowly together.

"I love this bed," she murmurs, "It's a very good bed."

"Mmm. I love _this_ ," he rasps softly, eyes still closed, "Used to dream about it."

"Me too."

They lie quietly for a few minutes, lazy and sluggish with sleep.

"Don't work today," he whispers, nosing at her collarbone, "Play hooky with me. Let's just spend the day together."

Olivia grins, absently playing in his curls with one hand. "Can I do that? I don't know if I can do that."

"You can do anything you want, you're the boss, remember?"

"I don't know…I'm supposed to remote in to a staff meeting today. I don't know if I should," she says unconvincingly, yawning and playfully squeezing her arms around him.

He huffs, pretending she's squeezed the breath out of him. "C'mon Livvie. Please?"

"Hmm…okay."

She's smiling when he picks his head up to look at her, surprised she's agreed. "Really?"

"Sure," she shrugs, playing with the edges of his tee shirt, "We haven't had a whole day together in a little while. We just came back from the city, and we were both working, and—"

He frowns slightly as she breaks off, casting her eyes down.

"—and, after our last session, I feel like we've been doing so much better. I feel really… _close_ to you again."

"Me too," he murmurs, nodding, "We are. We're doing great."

His eyes are soft, reassuring, relaxed, and they _are_ doing great. There's no tension between them anymore, and, if anything, therapy has brought them closer than ever.

They stare at each other quietly for a moment, reflecting, until Olivia clears her throat and reaches for her phone.

"Let me just text Quinn and let her know."

Humming contentedly, he nuzzles back into her neck, making her hold the phone up over him as she types. She giggles softly when he closes his mouth around a patch of skin, biting gently.

"Told you. Big cat."

He smiles and growls in response, biting her a few times in quick succession. "You want to go back to sleep?"

Setting her phone aside, she puts her hands back in his hair. "Going back to sleep…sure, that would be one option."

" _Oh_ ," he grins, slipping his hands underneath her top, "And what would be the other option?"

She nudges him to roll over, gracefully sliding her leg over to straddle him.

"The other option," she murmurs, delighting in the way his breath catches when their hips settle together, "Is cozying up under this big comforter, and making out for a while."

Fitz pretends to think it over. "Hmm, an interesting option, for sure. I mean, we _are_ going steady now, if we start making out we might even get to second base."

She rolls her eyes, kissing him soundly. "I was hoping we'd get further than _that_."

He smiles into their next kiss, letting her peck his lips a few times, sliding his hands back underneath her shirt. Her lips are deliciously soft, warm and smooth as she kisses him over and over, taking her time. Sighing quietly, she lets him kiss her with long presses, long enough to appreciate every sensation; the cool tip of his nose against her cheek, the scratch of his beard, the whisper of scent left behind from his soap. She teases him, keeping her mouth closed even as he gently prods with the tip of his tongue, begging her to let him in.

She pulls back, nipping at his bottom lip, gingerly taking it between her teeth and sucking it into her mouth. He hums low in his throat, kissing her back eagerly, tracing the curves of her breasts with his thumbs. Her breath catches as he runs his hands over her skin, and she rocks her hips down lazily, smoothing the curls away from his forehead.

"I love you," she murmurs, brushing her thumb over his cheek.

He meets her eyes with a soft smile. "Yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Say it again."

She leans in, nuzzling her nose into his cheek, punctuating each of her words with a soft kiss. "I…love…you…"

"Mmm…"

He rolls them over and buries his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. "Love you too. And I _love_ hearing you say it."

"I have a lot of years to make up for."

"No," he murmurs, picking his head up, tracing her lips with his thumb, "You don't have anything to make up for. We're good."

Olivia nods, staring up into his eyes for a moment, realizing that they really and truly are, _good_.

"So serious," she teases softly, furrowing her brows to imitate him.

He cracks a smile, arranging himself over her. "Oh, I take making love to you _very_ seriously."

Her soft laughter dies off as he leans in close, ghosting his open mouth across hers. Finally, she parts her lips, whimpering as he kisses her deeply.

It's heaven, being with him like this.

She feels so much lighter now that she's not keeping anything from him, now that he knows _all_ of her. He knows all of her and he's still here, and sometimes she still can't believe it. Sometimes when he holds her in his arms, her gut twists uncomfortably, like she's still holding on to secrets, until she remembers; there aren't any more secrets.

He knows her now, and she hadn't expected the relief of letting go and letting him in, _really_ letting him in.

"Hey," he murmurs, pressing a kiss against her neck before he pulls away, "Where'd you go?"

Olivia lays her palm against his cheek, cupping his face, returning his soft smile. "I was just thinking that…for the longest time, I was so afraid of feeling vulnerable. I felt like, if I let anyone make me feel safe, if I let anyone take care of me, I wouldn't be independent anymore. I wouldn't be me. But it's not that at all."

"What is it, then?"

"It's…this," she breathes, "It's living my life _with_ you. Letting you in, knowing that you're here, no matter what. Knowing you love every part of me, that's what makes me feel safe."

His eyes get warm and intense as he listens to her, and he gently lays his hand against her neck, running his thumb down the center. "Do you love every part of me?"

"I do," she whispers, losing her breath as his hand slides down to cup her breast.

He's giving her that look, the one that oozes confidence because he _knows_ he's making her fall apart, the one that instantly makes her flush hot.

"You're my safe place, too," he murmurs, palming her ribcage possessively, "You have been, for a long time."

She guides him down to her, listening to him moan quietly as she slips her tongue into his mouth.

He's warm and solid on top of her, and everything is _achingly_ familiar as they start to make love. She used to wonder if things would eventually settle, if they'd become complacent, stick to the same moves; a kiss here, a nip there, and then on to the main event. In some ways, after ten years, things _are_ familiar, but she's discovered that they're familiar in the best way possible.

She knows he'll want their shirts off first, as soon as possible, but it's because the feeling of their bare skin coming together is incredible. The anticipation of that first press is still something she looks forward to, and it's never anything less. Next, if she's feeling submissive, he'll put her on her back and put his mouth on her, _everywhere_. She's come to truly understand how much giving her pleasure turns him on, and she's more than happy to lie back and let him sweep her away.

And he still does. He's still _devastating_.

His mouth on her nipples makes her clit throb.

Something about the way his hands grip her hips makes her breathless.

And when his face is between her thighs…when he licks her out, she loses her grip on reality.

He's in rare form this morning.

He's holding her hips, fucking her with his tongue, running his thumb slowly back and forth over her clit at the same time. She pants quietly, one hand braced against her own forehead, the other in his hair, scratching at his scalp.

She feels him groan against her sensitive flesh, the vibrations heightening every sensation, making her arch into him.

" _Ah…wa—want—I want you inside me, wait…_ "

Fitz gentles his movements, stroking her clit with his tongue one more time before he scoots up, softly kissing over her belly. She's shaking with arousal and he gives her a moment to breathe, nuzzling the space between her breasts, swirling his tongue against her neck.

She rolls them over, encouraging him to slide up and recline against the pillows, leaning down to kiss him. He's _warm_ , obviously too hot under the comforter.

 _He always leaves it on for her, because she's always cold in the morning._

The thought makes her smile, and she pushes the blankets away, smoothing the damp curls away from his forehead, stroking cool fingers over his sweaty neck.

"Better?" she murmurs, between kisses.

" _Mmm_ …"

Reaching between them, she circles her hand around his pulsing erection, giving it some much needed attention. She watches his eyes slam shut as she strokes him, just the way he likes, slow and firm, until his chest is heaving.

" _Livvie_ …"

He's thick in her hand, and she kneels up, rubbing his tip against her entrance. His hands go to her hips as she settles back, taking a couple inches of him in, moaning breathlessly. She adjusts her angle slightly, relaxing her muscles to take a little more of him, pausing to lean down and kiss him lazily.

"You feel so good," he moans, encouraging the slow rock of her hips.

Liv hums contentedly, pressing closer, coaxing his mouth open wider, stroking her tongue over his. He feels warm and smooth, filling her up in just the right way, and it makes her moan into the kiss. Rocking slowly, she focuses on the stretch, on the pressure in her belly, the delicious friction that's making her even wetter. He pulses inside her and she whimpers, rolling her hips a little harder, pulling her right leg up against his ribs.

And then they're fucking, thrusting and grinding, moaning and gasping.

She squirms on top of him, letting him keep their rhythm while she gets lost in the tingly pleasure.

This is the part that she knows will never be any less incredible; when everything is warm, and wet, and swollen; when they can't stop kissing, and staring into each other's eyes; when she can't breathe because she's aching to come, but she doesn't want it to end because she's never felt safer, more loved, more _known_.

He presses his thumb against her clit and she comes immediately, fireworks blooming over her from the inside out. Her muscles ripple, squeezing around him, making her breath halt and stutter with the relief.

She collapses on top of him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he roughly flips her over. Her fingers tangle in his hair, holding him while he thrusts deep and hard, until he comes inside her. He groans brokenly, lowering into her arms as he comes, as they both start to calm. She welcomes his weight, drawing her knees up to cradle him, pressing her lips against his temple.

After a few minutes, she lets her limbs flop against the bed, spread-eagled and boneless. Fitz chuckles against her neck, pressing lazy kisses there, trailing his lips up to hers. They share a few soft kisses, humming and breathing.

" _Now_ , we can go back to sleep," she mumbles, reaching for the comforter.

He blocks her arm, rolling away from her. "Nuh-uh, we're getting up."

"Fitz," she whines, curling into his side for warmth, "We have the day off."

"Exactly, we have the day off. We can't spend the whole day sleeping."

"Why not?"

"If I make you breakfast, will you get up?"

Olivia cautiously raises an eyebrow. "Depends. What are you making?"

"Waffles?" he offers, knowing they're her favorite, and that she's too scared of kitchen appliances to ever make them herself.

As expected, she smiles excitedly. "Deal."

* * *

"C'mere baby," Olivia coos, splitting her legs into a straddle and calling for James, "Sit. Sit down, good boy."

Later that morning they're settled in the loft, showering their already-spoiled dogs with more affection.

Fitz chuckles from his position on the sofa, making her glance over at him.

"What?"

"Who would've thought Olivia Pope would become such a dog person?"

She smiles, starting to run the brush through James' medium-length coat. "We had a dog when I was little."

"You've never told me that."

"Mmm-hmm. A little cocker spaniel named Lucy. She died when I was eight. I have no idea what possessed my parents to get a dog when I was a baby, trying to be normal, I guess. I loved her though, she used to sleep on my bed at night. I was devastated when we had to put her down."

"Sorry, Liv," he murmurs, not really knowing what else to say, caught off guard by her readiness to talk about her childhood.

She shakes her head, reassuring him, still brushing James. "It was a long time ago. But, I do like dogs, I always have. Cats, too."

"Okay, we are _not_ getting a cat."

"First of all, I never said I _wanted_ a cat. And second of all, why not?" she laughs, surprised by his reaction.

"Cats are mean."

"No, they're not!"

"Yes, they are! They all hiss, and hide all the time."

"What cats have _you_ been around?"

"My mom's cat was a nightmare."

"Ah," she chuckles, "Now the truth comes out."

"Listen, you weren't there. That thing used to lie in wait, just waiting for me to walk by, minding my own business and then—BAM. Out of nowhere I'd have claws in my leg. The only person that cat liked was my mom."

Olivia collapses back onto the floor in a fit of giggles as he talks, watching him gesticulate his story from her position upside down.

"That was _one_ cat. You shouldn't stereotype all cats based on one experience."

"Yeah, well, it was a very traumatizing experience. Walking around in the dark at night, just on my way to the bathroom—"

She bursts into laughter again, shielding her face when he tosses a pillow at her. James lets out one loud bark, startling them both.

"Ooh, you better watch it," Liv warns, sitting up and hugging her arms around James' neck, "He's protective, aren't you sweet boy? Yeah, you tell him, 'don't you throw pillows at her'."

"Oh, please."

Dolly stretches lazily on the sofa, nudging her head up underneath Fitz's hand.

"And _you_ ," he says softly, starting to scratch her ears and neck, "What do you think you're doing, huh? Begging for pets? Hmm?"

"Don't get too comfortable over there, little lady. You're next," Liv says, pointing the brush in Dolly's direction.

The sleepy dog blinks once and shuts her eyes again, completely un-phased by the threat. They both laugh as she rolls onto her back, legs splayed open.

"They were never allowed on the couch before you came along, you know," Fitz chuckles, scratching Dolly's belly.

"That's a silly rule. Literally, what they want most in the world is to cuddle with us, and you're gonna deny them that?"

"I think they like food and going 'o-u-t' more than cuddling, but, it's too late now."

Liv adds another tuft of fur to the pile she's brushed out so far, rubbing her nose as hair wafts through the air. "You are a hairy beast, buddy. I know, I feel that mat, I'm sorry."

"As soon as it gets a little warmer they start shedding like crazy. I have a groomer, you know, they don't mind going."

"I kind of like doing it," she shrugs, using scissors to gently snip the mat from James' coat, "They're so good about sitting still, it's not that hard."

Fitz smiles, watching her meticulously groom James. "I think they like having you do it, too."

* * *

"Take it back."

"No."

She squeals with laughter as he starts to tickle her again, easily pinning her to the couch with his weight.

"Take. It. _Back_ ," he growls playfully, getting in her face, smushing his nose next to hers.

"No," she giggles, trying to get away from him, "You _are_ a grandpa."

His fingers dig into her ribs, making her squirm and laugh breathlessly. He laughs with her, delighting in the joy on her face.

"Not knowing how to work the DVR does _not_ make me a grandpa," he argues, whispering directly into her ear, tickling her even more.

Olivia gasps for breath, still trying to push his hands away. "You didn't even know what the DVR _was_ until ten minutes ago, which is why— _aah, stop iiit!_ "

He overpowers her easily and they fight for a few more minutes, laughing and wrestling. Fitz growls again, biting at her neck, rubbing his beard against her skin to make her shriek. Eventually he gets ahold of her hands, pinning them above her head.

"Take it back," he breathes, grinning wolfishly against her lips.

She arches beneath him, trying to catch her breath, smiling defiantly. "No."

It knocks the breath out of him, because the moment is the epitome of their relationship.

She's not afraid to challenge him.

She doesn't let him get away with _anything_ , and she never has.

Kissing her soundly, he lets go of her hands and snuggles into her neck. "Fine. You wound me, woman."

"Aww, poor baby," she simpers, running her hands through his hair, "It's okay, it's not really your fault that you're so technologically challenged."

"It's not my thing, okay?" he laughs, "I'm from a different—"

"—generation?"

He threatens her with his hands again, resting them against her sides.

"Okay I'm stopping, I'm stopping," she giggles, pushing his hands away.

" _Environment_ , is what I was going to say. I didn't grow up with technology and then I went into politics, and we couldn't have any. Security and whatnot."

"I know. But I'll take just about any excuse to make fun of you."

"Oh, trust me, I know."

"Alright, well, now that we've uncovered the magic of the DVR and On Demand, what do you want to watch?"

"Shh. I'm sleeping," he murmurs, making himself comfortable against her.

It's actually not a bad idea, she reasons. He's so warm, the couch is soft, and a few afternoon clouds have drifted to cover the sun.

"Oh, _now_ you want to sleep. You were all, 'can't waste the day', this morning when _I_ wanted to sleep."

"Afternoon naps are one of life's sweetest pleasures, Livvie."

"You know what kind of people love naps the most?"

"If you say it, you're gonna get it."

There's a threatening pause.

"Grandpas."

Chaos ensues immediately as he grabs for her, her laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

* * *

Their wine cellar has undergone quite a few changes over the past year.

Olivia chooses a record from the pile in the nook, stopping to pick up her novel where it's lying on the plush violet chaise. She bookmarks her page and returns it to the bookshelf, carefully unsheathing the record and flipping it over between her fingertips. With a practiced touch, she sets it down and positions the arm, closing her eyes at the familiar crackle.

Rosemary Clooney's warm, husky voice fills the cellar.

 _Your arms opened wide, and closed me inside_

 _You took my lips, you took my love_

 _So tenderly_

Stepping away from the record player, she crosses to the small, high table where a bottle of aged Rioja is decanting. She lowers her nose into the mouth of the vessel, instantly reminded of Spain when the rich, subtly fruity aroma hits her nose. Instantly, she conjures images of light, savory Spanish cheese, and salty green olives.

"Hi," Fitz calls, descending the stairs with two steaming plates, ducking his head at the bottom of the landing.

"Hi," she smiles, striking a match to light the large three-wick candle in the center of the table.

"Date night in the wine cellar o' love," he chants, dancing a little bit, waggling his eyebrows excitedly, "We don't do this nearly enough."

She giggles at his antics, shaking the match to extinguish it. "Give me those plates before you drop our food."

He shrugs her off and sets the plates down, pulling her chair around so that they're sitting next to each other.

"Mmm, this smells incredible."

"Which wine did you pick?"

"A Rioja. It's a little bit lighter, you'll like it."

"Can it stand up to my famous chicken marsala?"

Settling in next to him, she pours the decanted wine into two glasses. "Rioja has a lot of personality, it stands up to anything. Here."

They softly clink their glasses together and take a sip, doing a wine tasting before they dig in to the delicious meal he's prepared.

"Mmm," he hums, setting his glass down, "I _do_ like it, you're right."

She slurps air in with her sip, letting the wine sit on her tongue for a moment. "See? I'd never steer you wrong."

"You're so cute when you taste," he teases, passing her a napkin and silverware.

"I've been tasting wine since I was about ten," she jokes, "My—um…my Dad taught me."

Fitz watches her smile dim slightly, the way it always does when her father comes up, particularly when she's recalling one of the few happy memories she has with him.

"You know I'm here for you, right? If you decide to reach out to him?" Fitz tells her cautiously, "I know you've talked about it with Catherine, that it might be good for you."

"I know you are," she murmurs, smiling at him gently, "Let's not talk about it right now, let's eat. Okay?"

He nods, leaning in to kiss her softy. "Go ahead, you take a bite first."

She cuts a bite of chicken, making sure to spear a mushroom and scoop up some sauce as well.

Instantly, the rich flavors explode over her tongue. Sweet, caramelized Marsala wine infused with shallots and garlic, earthy mushrooms complimented with thyme and sage, all married together to compliment the buttery, tender chicken.

"Oh my _god_ ," she sighs, tipping her head back, "That is amazing."

"Yeah?" he grins, taking a bite himself, "Mmm, this _did_ come out good."

Liv cuts another bite, shaking her head. "I think you have a second career here, I don't know."

He laughs, taking another sip of wine. "I think this particular hobby is going to be for our own enjoyment, if that's okay. I've worked enough for one lifetime."

* * *

Later, they've squished together on the chaise in her reading nook, finishing the bottle of wine.

"I really do love what you've done down here," he comments, playing with the ends of her hair, "It's like your woman-cave."

She laughs softly, resting her head against his chest. "It's cozy. This _is_ my favorite room in the house, it just made sense to find a way to spend more time down here."

And it is her favorite room. It's his physical love letter to her. The wine cellar seems to _hug_ her somehow, like she can feel every bit of care and thought he'd put into it every time she steps foot in it.

"This has been such a nice day," she murmurs after a few minutes of silence.

"It has been."

She smiles, stroking his chest. "We relaxed, you fed me all day—"

" _That's_ the only reason you agreed to do this," he laughs, "You knew I'd have extra time to cook for you."

"I'd be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind," she teases, sipping her wine, "But, really. It was the best idea, we need to do it more often. We've waited so long to have this, we have to stop and enjoy it."

He presses a kiss into her hair, inhaling deeply. "I whole-heartedly agree."

They're quiet again, listening to the music, enjoying being pressed together.

"I think we should get married right here."

Her soft confession catches him off guard, and he stares at her for a moment. "Wha—really? Wait, in the wine cellar?"

"No," she chuckles, "Here, at the house. Outside, when it gets warmer."

"I love that idea."

Liv plays with her ring, watching the diamond catch the soft lighting. "I don't need anything fancy. I just—I just want to be married to you. That's all."

His heart squeezes affectionately as she looks up into his eyes. "Me too, Livvie. Me too."

* * *

 **A/N: Colorado wedding! Woo! Thank you for reading 3 Leave me a review and let me know your thoughts!**


	18. Chapter 17

" _I'm glad that we—that I get to see it, this side of you."_

" _Me too."_

* * *

" _Why are you still wearing it, Liv?"_

" _Because I'm still in love with you!"_

* * *

" _You feel so good. I just…_ _ **oh**_ _…I missed you. I missed you so much."_

" _Missed making love with you. Missed your eyes, missed your voice."_

* * *

" _ **Show me who you are**_ _, I promise I won't ever make you regret it."_

* * *

" _You are an incredible father. Maybe you aren't always perfect, but no one is. He knew he was loved."_

* * *

" _Thank you, for being here with me."_

" _Thanks for letting me."_

* * *

" _Don't give up on me, okay?"_

" _ **Never**_ _."_

* * *

" _I feel like I shouldn't want that. I've fought so hard to stand on my own, to not rely on anyone, to not let anyone else define my happiness."_

" _Have you ever felt truly happy, though?"_

* * *

" _I'm worried that I won't be enough, without kids, just you and I—"_

" _I want_ _ **you**_ _. You are more incredible than anyone I could've ever dreamed that I wanted, do you know that?"_

* * *

" _Why do you think I'd leave you after all this time? After everything we've been through?"_

" _Because everyone does."_

* * *

" _I'm gonna love you no matter what, nothing is going to change that."_

* * *

" _Marry me, Livvie?"_

" _Yes._ _ **Yes**_ _."_

* * *

 _ **August, 2020**_

They've been insatiable for _days_.

Maybe it's a full moon, maybe it's the anticipation of their upcoming weekend, and what it all means; whatever it is, it's not going anywhere, and they've been giving in without a second thought.

"Fuck…fuck… _fuck_."

She's so uninhibited when his tongue is inside of her, especially after a couple glasses of wine.

Fitz grins against her, languidly stroking her opening with his tongue a few more times, groaning quietly. He uses his thumbs to spread her open, sliding up to swirl his tongue methodically over her clit, teasing it with alternating pressure, sucking gently to make her whimper and pant.

" _That_ …oh my god, _that_ …do it aga—"

But he's already _doing_ it again, listening to her sob, watching as she gushes, muscles clenching. He laps at her fluid, humming as he spreads it around with his tongue, wedging his shoulders more securely between her thighs so she doesn't accidentally suffocate him.

He slides two fingers inside her and she moans, one hand clenched in the bedding, the other tangled in his hair. Stroking slowly, he curls the tips of his fingers, meeting the rock of her hips. Her breath deepens and she starts to whimper his name over and over, begging, for what she's not sure, just more, always _more_.

His flattens his tongue, pressing, slowly shaking his head back and forth. He's still teasing her, driving her _crazy_ , winding her up the way only he's ever been able to. Pulling his fingers out to the tips, he opens his mouth and scrapes his teeth over her clit, just hard enough to feel the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves give a little bit with each stroke. On every exhale, with every brush of his teeth, she cries out, her hips jump, she pulls his hair…

And then she's quiet, and her whole body convulses as she starts to come.

She bends at the knees and hips, sitting up, holding her breath until she falls into it. When his fingers slip inside her again, she tips down the other side, shaking, keening moans echoing through their bedroom. All of her limbs are tingling as her muscles pulse around his fingers, and she pulls him closer, rocking against his mouth.

" _Fitz…Fitz…Fitz…_ "

Eventually, she falls back onto the bed, and he gives her some space to come down.

Panting softly, she pulls her hand from his hair and starts to touch herself, gathering wetness with the tips of her fingers, drawing gentle circles around her clit. It makes him growl softly, makes him suck kisses against her inner thighs so he can watch.

When he blows cool air across her center, sliding his tongue between her folds again, she moans and laughs, closing her legs.

"Oh my _god_ …you're gonna kill me, get up here."

He crawls over her, stopping to nip and tease, until he's propped over her on his forearms.

"Bossy," he murmurs, smiling into an open-mouthed kiss.

Her tongue comes out to meet his, searching, stroking. She sighs as they kiss, tracing the muscles of his back, dragging her nails over his sides to make him shiver.

"You love it," she teases softly, biting his bottom lip.

His hips flex, and he moans into her mouth when her hands slide over his ass. She drags him closer so that they can rock together, all warmth, and stickiness, and _delicious_ pressure.

He squeezes the lovely roundness of her hips, massages her firm thighs, sighs against her cheek. "God, you're so perfect. You're so fucking sexy."

"Fuck me," she whispers, between kisses, flushed with how much she wants him.

He moans into one more kiss, and then pushes up onto his palms, watching as she strokes him a few times and guides him into place. She takes a moment to rub the head of his cock through her folds, getting him wet, teasing her clit.

" _Now_ who's being a tease?" he pants, groaning when she fits him against her core, nudging his tip inside of her.

Her hands go to his hips and they watch while he presses in, taking his time, listening as her breath catches with each inch. He pushes and rolls, easing in half of his length, and then pauses, leaning down to kiss her, waiting for her hips to tip up. Her hands cradle his face, kissing him deep and slow while she pulls him in closer with her legs, relaxing her muscles.

When their hips settle together, he buries his face in her neck, groaning.

" _Fuck_ …you always feel so good…made for me, you're so perfect," he babbles, rocking his hips, swept away by the relief of being inside her.

She can't breathe, he feels so good, and she's so in love with him…

"Move, baby," she pants against his temple, rubbing his back.

He seems to have gotten more of a handle on himself, because he's wearing his signature lopsided grin when he looks at her, making her heart flip.

"I want you slow," he whispers, nuzzling his nose against hers, feeling her breath against his lips.

She sucks on his bottom lip and nods, matching the slow grind of his hips, fighting to keep her eyes open.

He lazily sucks her right nipple into his mouth, running his palm up and down the outside of her thigh.

"Wanna hear you tonight…as of tomorrow we'll have a houseful for the weekend."

"Mmm," she hums, chest heaving softly, "Tell me again. Tell me why."

A deeper, harder thrust makes her squeeze his biceps and let out a quick, loud sigh.

"Because we're getting married this weekend."

He tries another hard roll of his hips and she whimpers, arching into him.

"I love you."

"Love you," he groans, nuzzling her neck.

"You're gonna be my husband," she moans, raking her fingers through his hair, pulling him into a kiss, "I can't wait."

"I can't either," he whispers, still moving, starting to really get lost in her, "I wanna hear you, Livvie."

"If you want to hear me," she murmurs against his ear, her voice delicate and irresistible, "You have to _fuck_ me."

And just like that, she's talked him out of slow, and into the longer, harder rhythm that she's craving. He loops his arm beneath her left thigh, growling against her neck as he puts more weight behind his thrusts. Her long moan turns into a laugh, loud and joyful, full of lust and happiness.

She's just _grateful_.

So grateful that they're here, that he's hers, that he'll be beside her for the rest of her life.

Because they came _so_ close, _so_ many times, to ruining it all, to letting it slip away from them.

Hell, she'd almost _thrown_ it away, _shoved_ him away, more times than she cares to remember.

But they're here.

Unbreakable.

She gets to keep him, and give herself to him, forever.

They get to laugh together, and cry together, and everything in between, _forever_.

The way she laughs makes him smile, and he rests his forehead against hers, grinning against her mouth. They move together, smiling and moaning, panting, until they both climax and collapse, spent.

He's _sweet_ with her after.

He's always attentive and loving after sex, he likes to cuddle as much as she does, if not more.

But tonight, he's just…sweet.

He spends long minutes kissing her, _thoroughly_ , until she can't remember what day it is, until she's not sure whether she's awake or dreaming.

"Do you think sex will still be as good, once we're married?" she teases him after, curled into his arms, drawing patterns across his chest.

"Mmm," he hums, kissing her forehead, "It's going to be even better."

She smiles, kissing his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. We'll get to have honeymoon sex, and anniversary sex, and Viagra sex, after I'm too old to get it up on my own—"

Liv bursts into giggles, body shaking with laughter, just consumed with love for this adorable dork of a man who has somehow agreed to marry her.

"Are we really getting married this weekend?" she asks him suddenly, leaning on his chest so she can see his face, eyes round and glassy.

He nods, bringing her closer for a tender kiss. "You'd better believe we are."

* * *

There have never been this many people in the house at one time, and the dogs are _loving_ life.

"I'm going to steal you guys. Yes, I am! Yes, I am!"

Quinn has been cooing over the dogs since she arrived, and she's currently on the floor with them, _again_.

"If you mess up your hair, I'm not re-doing it," Abby sighs, tucking another piece into the side bun she's working on for Olivia.

The three of them are in the master bedroom, getting ready for the evening's celebration.

"I'm not going to mess it up. I have to snuggle these guys while I can, Liv's probably never going to invite us out here again."

"Hey, not with that attitude I won't," Liv pipes up, setting her phone down, smiling at the way both James and Dolly have flopped over, "Look at them. So spoiled."

James catches her looking at him and gets up, trotting over to her chair.

"Hi sweet boy," she murmurs, stroking his head, scratching behind his ears, "Do you love Quinn? Hmm?"

"Liv, stop moving," Abby orders, gently angling her friend's head back to where she needs it, "I'm almost done, stop being so antsy. Are you nervous?"

"No," Liv answers immediately, still smiling at James, "I'm not nervous at all."

"You're not?" Quinn asks in disbelief, "Everyone is nervous before they get married."

"I guess, in my head, we're already married," Liv answers, tipping her head thoughtfully, "Taking those first steps toward commitment were the hardest, this part is easy. I'm so _ready_."

"I actually don't know if I've ever seen you this calm. Wait, are you on something?" Abby asks tactlessly, peering around to look her in the eye.

Olivia giggles, flopping back in the chair. " _No_. And it wouldn't be any of your business if I was. I'm just happy. I'm not allowed to be happy?"

"You're allowed, it's great! It's just _weird_ ," Quinn agrees, sitting up, "We're not used to Colorado-Liv, we're used to Washington-Liv."

"You're making me sound like I have a split personality. I'm both of those people, I'm one person," Liv laughs, "Can we focus on something more important? Do you know what you're going to say for the ceremony?"

"Listen, I've been ordained for a whole week now, that's plenty of time to perfect my speech," Abby boasts, waving her comb around.

"Seriously, Abby, you did practice right? Or write something down?" Liv asks, turning around to face her friend.

"As if I'd let you have a crackerjack wedding ceremony. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, I have it under control. The internet taught me everything I need to know."

"Oh, god."

"I'm more worried about you losing it up there during their vows," Quinn interjects, still petting Dolly, "Everyone knows you're a crier."

"I am not!"

"You really are," Liv agrees, nodding vehemently, "And if you cry, I'm going to cry, and ruin my makeup, and then I'll have to hurt you. And I don't really want to hurt you."

"Comforting, Liv, thanks."

"Just keep it together, okay?" Quinn laughs, standing up, " _Both_ of you."

* * *

When it's nearly time, Olivia asks to be left alone for a little while.

She stands in the bathroom and double checks her makeup, smudging just a little more shimmery bronze shadow onto her lids.

She glances through her small collection of seldom-worn perfume, choosing a warm, soft, sandalwood fragrance that always seems to get Fitz's attention. He's never said anything, but he doesn't have to explicitly tell her when he likes something. The way he hums and nuzzles her neck, or drinks her in with his eyes gives him away every time. She dabs a little bit behind her ears, and between her breasts, the places he's most likely to end up later.

She adjusts her hair one more time, adjusting the waves so that they lay _just so_ , as they're swept back into her bun.

Finally, she stands in front of their full-length mirror and makes sure that her dress still looks _perfect_. It's two pieces; a sleeveless, caramel-colored silk tank, tucked into a long chiffon skirt with layers that cascade like a waterfall. The layers whisper together, two shades of champagne white with subtle traces of gold shimmer, gathered ever so slightly in the back to highlight her curves. The top scoops low to show off her back, a style that Fitz _loves_ on her, because he _loves_ her back. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine she'd dress with a man in mind, but knowing he loves something always makes her feel even sexier.

 _Nothing wrong with that._

She takes long, deep breaths, trying to stay present, trying to soak up every second because it's all going so fast.

* * *

Fitz stands in the kitchen doorway, watching their closest friends snack on passed appetizers, breathing in the smell of dinner cooking. It's surreal, standing here knowing he's about to marry Olivia, that everything he's ever wanted is falling into place in a way he'd never even dreamed.

Movement in the backyard catches his eye, and he walks to the edge of the open glass doors to see Huck and Teddy throwing a football back and forth. Fitz smiles as Teddy starts to run at full speed, no hesitation about trying to tackle a man four times his size. Huck gently cushions the tackle, toppling to the ground as if Teddy's really knocked him over, laughing out loud.

Fitz has barely interacted with Huck, but he knows that Liv is deeply connected to him, that they have a bond he'll probably never understand. He knows if she were walking down an aisle today, Huck would be at her side, and that he's fiercely protective of her, professionally and personally.

He's never been jealous, though.

If anything, he's always comforted by the fact that Huck's been there to look out for her when he couldn't do it himself, or she wouldn't let him.

"Dad!"

Teddy's call snaps him out of his reverie, and he smiles at the unlikely pair, taking a few steps into the yard.

"You about ready, bud? Why don't you go wash your hands, we're gonna eat dinner right after Liv and I get married."

"Aren't weddings long, Dad? I'm starving. My friend Alicia said her brother got married, and it took _forever_."

"Sometimes they're long, but this one won't be. Liv and I just want to tell each other how much we love each other, and then we'll pretty much be done. Is that okay with you?"

"I guess," Teddy sighs, sliding past him and into the house.

Fitz chuckles, ruffling his son's hair as he walks by, turning back toward the yard to see Huck hovering nearby.

In the few seconds that follow, the air changes and Huck steps forward, standing stoically in front of him. It's unexpected, and at first Fitz isn't sure what to make of it, meeting the other man's intense gaze.

And then, Huck reaches out to shake his hand, and he understands.

* * *

They don't have a wedding party, and they're not doing any kind of procession, so Fitz sends everyone outside and waits at the bottom of the stairs for her. As soon as he hears her shoes on the hardwood his heart starts to pound, because he has no idea what she'll look like, but he knows she's going to be _beautiful_.

He hasn't seen her in hours, so his first instinct when Liv peeks down at him from the loft is to smile brilliantly, because he's a man in love and he wants his Livvie near him, _always_. She doesn't say anything, just smiles back and starts to come down the stairs, holding her skirt up so she doesn't trip.

He's immediately speechless, because she looks so special.

She looks like a bride, but she looks like herself, too, and it makes a lump rise in his throat. Her smile is so radiant and honest, so pure, and his love for her is suddenly so overwhelming that his hands flex involuntarily, needing to touch her, to hold her.

She stops on the last step, which puts her at nearly his height, and lets him pull her close, resting her hands on his shoulders. Out of habit, she gives him a once-over, smoothing his hair, adjusting the open collar of his white shirt, stroking over the buttons.

"Hi."

He's not sure he can answer her, but he clears his throat and tries anyway.

" _Hi_. _God_ , you're so beautiful."

Liv eases herself from his grasp, taking a few steps away and turning to look at him over her shoulder, showing off the back. "You like it?"

" _Like_ it?" he smirks, grinning as she twirls happily.

She giggles as he catches her in his arms, tugging their hips together.

"Do you _love_ it?" she murmurs, looping her arms around his neck, "Because I do."

His eyes warm. "You do?"

Realizing what she's said, she sobers and nods slowly. "I do."

* * *

Abby clears her throat, steeling herself. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here—just kidding."

Fitz's mouth drops open and all of their guests start to laugh, watching as Olivia shakes her head.

"I had to," Abby shrugs, smiling at them, waiting while everyone settles down, "Okay, for real this time."

She pauses, looking between them.

"I've known both of you for quite some time now, and I can honestly say that I have never seen two people love each other the way you do. I am so incredibly happy for both of you, and so _thankful_ that you two _finally_ got your shit together—"

"You know, maybe we should skip to the middle part?" Liv says, raising her eyebrows.

"Okay, sure," Abby says, nodding emphatically, "Are you guys ready with your vows? You wrote vows, right?"

Fitz smiles, taking a deep breath. "We did."

"Alright then, well—Fitz, do you want to go first?"

"Sure," Fitz sighs, his smile filled with pure joy, " _I love you_."

" _Shit_ ," Abby interrupts quietly, trying and failing to stop herself from crying.

Olivia shoots her a _look_ , and she takes a step back.

"I'm sorry, go ahead," she says tearfully, sniffling and fanning her face.

Everyone chuckles quietly, watching Abby try to keep herself in check.

Fitz's eyes never leave Olivia's face, and as soon as she looks at him again he keeps going.

"I love _everything_ about you. I love the way you move through life, equal parts hurricane and cool breeze. I love how stubborn you are, the way you'll go down fighting before you _ever_ give in on something you believe, whether it's fighting for a client, or insisting that _I'm_ the one who left the cap off the toothpaste. I love your laugh. I love your smile. I love how fiercely you protect the people that you love, and I'm so grateful to be one of those people. I've loved you even when we've hurt each other, and I'll love you when we do it again, because we probably will, and that's okay because that's marriage. But, I want you to know that I will _never_ hurt you on purpose. And I'll never let you hurt at all, if there's anything I can do to stop it. You deserve to be happy, and I'm gonna do everything in my power to make sure that you're happy, every single day, for the rest of our lives."

He reaches into his pocket for her wedding band, slipping it on to her finger. Raising her hands, he pulls her close and presses his lips against her fingers, then loops his arms around her waist to hold her.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," she murmurs, shaking her head, running one hand through his hair, "Loving you is the most reckless, exhilarating, out of control thing I've ever done, and I've never regretted it, not for one second. Certainly not during the easy times, but I never regretted it during the terrifying, difficult times either, even though I was so afraid. I was so afraid to let you love me, for so long, because I'd never felt anything like it before. I didn't know how, and I felt like if I couldn't be with you the _right_ way, then I didn't deserve you. But…you've taught me that we don't have to be perfect, we just have to _be_. I didn't know what it was like to have a safe place, until I let you be mine."

Olivia pauses to swallow, blinking away tears, squeezing his hands to ground herself.

"You make me better. You keep me honest, with you, and with _myself_. And I'll always be grateful for that, for you. I promise that I'll never take you for granted, that I'll keep being grateful for you, and fighting for you, and loving you, every single day, for the rest of our lives."

Fitz pulls his own wedding band from his other pocket, handing it to her so that she can slide it on. Seeing a wedding band on his finger again, _her_ wedding band, makes her stomach flip and her heart warm. It makes emotion rise thick in her throat, so powerful that Abby doesn't even have a chance to pronounce them because they're already kissing, slow and sweet and breathless.

Their friends are clapping, and Abby's concluding the informal ceremony anyway, but they can barely hear any of it. They're in their own world for a few minutes, holding each other, letting the moment overwhelm them.

And then the _joy_ comes, and they're laughing as he picks her up and spins her, squeezing her tight.

"Guys, can we eat now?" Teddy calls out, and everyone laughs, watching as Fitz sets her down.

"We've got a growing boy to feed, evidently," Liv chuckles, straightening her skirt, "Yes, let's eat!"

* * *

Dinner is delightful.

They all gather around one long outside table, and settle in for a leisurely evening of great food and excellent conversation. Nearly every ingredient the chef they've hired uses is fresh and locally sourced, from garden arugula and sweet corn, to the eastern plain prime rib and prosciutto-wrapped Rocky Ford cantaloupe slices. Dessert is peach crisp, nearly sugar free because of the perfectly ripe Palisade peaches, topped with buttery crumble and homemade vanilla bean ice cream.

It's a perfect night.

Olivia spends the night feeling free, surrounded by people she trusts, letting herself transition between her own chair and Fitz's lap whenever she feels the need. No one's judging her, it's her wedding day, she's _supposed_ to want to be near him. He needs her close too, she can feel it in the way his arms tighten around her waist, in the warm kisses he absently presses onto her bare shoulders.

Luckily, the wine makes everyone sleepy, and by eleven o'clock their guests move to head out or turn in. With their in-house guests squared away for the night, stuffed, happy, and tired, Olivia and Fitz retreat into their bedroom.

And just like that, they're married, and they're finally alone, settling into their bedroom as spouses for the first time.

The windows are open, and the sound of crickets chirping filters gently into the room. Fitz turns the lock and then comes to her, waiting while she takes her earrings off before he gently grips her waist and turns her to face him.

"You married me today."

His eyes are soft and wet, and he's looking at her like he still can't believe it.

"Yeah," she murmurs, reaching up to cradle his face, rubbing gently with her thumbs, "I did."

She can see that it's all hitting him now that they're alone, and he looks _so_ vulnerable, so grateful and humbled.

"I love you so much," he rasps, voice shaking.

His emotion makes her breath catch, and she lets him bury his face in her neck, stroking her fingers through his hair. "I love you, too."

He slowly walks her back a few steps, until he can press her against the wall, warm hands massaging circles around her hips. Liv hums quietly, stroking up and down his back, resting her palm on the back of his neck.

"Did you have a good time?" he murmurs, nudging his forehead against hers.

She nods, rubbing his arms. "It was perfect. I loved every minute of it."

He dips back down to her neck, but this time he nuzzles in and starts to press slow, sucking kisses against her skin. Goosebumps bloom all over her body, and she shivers in his arms, automatically arching to encourage him. She _feels_ his answering growl more than she hears it, and the vibration makes her nipples peak, a surge of damp heat settling heavy between her thighs.

When he meets her eyes, she almost gasps, because the way he's looking at her…

 _Mine._

"We have guests," she whispers, so, _so_ quietly, because she can barely breathe when he's looking at her like that.

"I don't care," he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek, his breathing just as labored.

Every inch of his body is pressed against hers, and she feels their breath sync, chests rising and falling together. Her eyes drift closed, hands wandering lazily over him, feeling the warmth of his skin through his clothes. She's been aching to touch him all night, in the slow, deliberate way she can't when they're not alone.

"I want to make love to my wife. I _need_ to," he whispers against her ear, and her body sags against the wall, knees weakening.

She's breathless, and she can't speak, but she nods in agreement, pressing her forehead against his. She tips her head to the side, fitting her lips over his, drawing his bottom lip into her mouth.

Instantly, their bodies start to roll and writhe together gently, subtle movements that are completely involuntary. Their kisses are slow, long, and wet, endless presses as they slip out of their clothes and climb into bed. They only stop kissing briefly to get settled, and Fitz sits with his back against the headboard, pulling her into his lap.

They tangle themselves together, wrapping each other up, getting as close as two people can possibly be.

They go _slow_ , slower than they have in a long time, because right now they just need to connect.

Olivia feels like everything is heightened; the softness of his hair between her fingers, the gentle rasp of his tongue against her nipples, the subtle pulse of his erection inside of her as she rocks her hips back and forth… _back and forth_ …

His hands stroke down her back and he groans softly into their kiss, staring into her eyes. His fingers dig into the fleshy part of her hips when her muscles clench around him, making her pant against his lips, eyes never leaving his.

And then all of a sudden her eyes are burning with tears, because he's her _husband_.

She's making love to her _husband_.

Fitz is her _husband_.

Her safe place.

She brings trembling lips to his, cradling his face, whispering an ' _I love you_ ', and his breath catches.

He's emotional too, holding her as close as he can, burying his face in her neck. One of his hands drifts between them, and her mouth drops open as he starts to rub her clit. She cradles him against her breasts as he starts to thrust up harder, faster, gasping, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

It takes them a long time to feel sated, to feel like they've given everything they have.

Even after they've both come, they don't move.

Olivia keeps him cradled against her chest long after he's caught his breath, stroking through his hair, letting him rock her soothingly. When he finally looks up at her, their gaze is intense for a few seconds, and then they share a smile, falling into a long kiss.

"That was _good_ , baby," she sighs quietly, feeling wonderfully fuzzy and sex-drunk.

Fitz hums as her fingers massage his scalp, dipping down to gently suck one of her nipples, making her moan softly.

"Were we loud?" he wonders absently, nuzzling her soft breast, "I wasn't even paying attention."

She giggles, head tipping back as she hugs him close.

"We're allowed."

* * *

 **A/N: For everyone who waited for this THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE. I really wanted to get it right, and I think the pressure of that got to me at times. But I hope you guys find this as satisfying to read as it was to write. There is an epilogue to come, and then this story will come to an end. I have a lot of feelings about that, but mostly it feels like it's time :-). Thank you SO MUCH for reading, and let me know what you thought!**


	19. Epilogue

**August 2021 - One Year Later**

* * *

She's at the sink rinsing glasses when she hears the front door beep, signaling that he's finally come home.

"Finally," she calls, drying her hands, "I tried calling you, what took so—"

Fitz comes into the kitchen holding…a puppy.

"Surprise," he says softly, grinning widely, walking toward her.

Olivia is completely frozen, mouth agape. "Wha—when did you—who is that?"

He comes to stand in front of her, stroking the puppy's head. "She's ours. Yours, if you want."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah," he smiles, shrugging nonchalantly, like he's holding a bag of potatoes instead of a fuzzy little creature.

"You—you went out for groceries and came back with a puppy?"

"Looks that way."

She stares at him for a second, eyes bouncing between his excited face and the puppy in his arms.

"But—we—I… _what?_ " she laughs, feeling like her brain can't catch up, "Are you serious? We haven't even talked about getting a third dog."

"I know, but I just thought…you were talking a couple months ago about missing out on Dolly and James being puppies, and I thought it might be fun for you, a fun surprise, getting to raise one."

"Is she a cocker spaniel?" she asks softly, stepping closer, covering her mouth.

The little puppy is _undeniably_ adorable, stealing more of her heart with each passing moment. She lets it happen, lets the warm fuzzy feeling fill her chest instead of pushing it away, because it's not foreign anymore. Warmth is something she embraces now, something she leans into.

He nods, shifting the small brown ball of fur. "I found a breeder a couple of hours away. She's nine weeks old."

"You got me a cocker spaniel puppy," she breathes, still in complete shock, blinking away tears, "Like Lucy."

It feels like a hundred years ago now, when she'd told him the story about her childhood dog; but he pays attention, filing away every detail of her life, and she _knows_ this puppy is a cocker spaniel on purpose.

"So…it's okay?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

She widens her eyes, laughing. "You're very _lucky_ that it's okay, but, yes, it's more than okay!"

Fitz chuckles, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. "I was ninety-nine percent sure you'd be excited, but I _did_ have to tell the breeder that she was a surprise for my wife."

She steps in to kiss him softly, cradling his face, smiling when a little wet nose bumps against her chin.

"Thank you," she whispers against his lips.

"Happy anniversary, Livvie. Here, you want to hold her?"

"Yes, of course I do," she laughs, wiping away tears, "Oh, hi little one. Hi, little girl."

The puppy wiggles excitedly as she's transferred into a new person's arms, sniffing and licking and whining.

"We might want to let her run around a little, we've been in the car for a while," he grins, watching them say hello to one another, "Where are the dogs?"

"They were sleeping upstairs on the deck, last I checked," she giggles, dodging the puppy's tongue.

"Okay, we should…why don't you take her outside, and I'll get them to come out and meet her. We should get that out of the way."

"Wait, what's her name?" Olivia asks, suddenly.

"She doesn't have one yet," he smiles, " _You_ get to name her."

* * *

As it turns out, aggression isn't a problem for either of the Tibetan terriers.

In fact, they're both _terrified_ of the puppy, jumping and running away from her any time she sniffs her way over to them.

"Is _this_ why you suddenly decided to fence in part of the yard?"

He smiles and nods, lounging in the grass next to her. "These two were pretty comfortable being outside by the time I got them. I knew I couldn't handle two tiny puppies at once so they were already almost a year old. But I knew if I was going to get you a _little_ puppy, we'd need some kind of fence."

"You're so sneaky. You told me it was for the garden," she says, shaking her head in disbelief, watching the puppy roll around in the grass, "How do we call her if she doesn't have a name yet?"

"Dunno. Try something generic, she'll probably know what you want."

"C'mere, little one! Come on," Liv tries, clapping her hands.

Sure enough, she immediately gets up and frolicks over, ears flopping adorably.

" _Geez_ , she's cute," he chuckles, "I knew she was going to love you."

Liv picks up one of the toys laying in the grass, encouraging the puppy to chew on it, instead of her fingers. "Yeah? How did you know that?"

"Animals like you," he shrugs, reaching around to pet Dolly, who is cowering behind him, "They just do. Every single dog at the farmers' market wants to sniff you and say hello, and show you their belly. Even that rabbit at the corn booth wasn't scared of you."

She laughs, tipping her head back at the memory. "That rabbit was about fifty years old, she was done caring about _anything_."

"Still, she barely even sniffed anyone else. _You_ went over to pet her and she perked right up."

"How long are they going to be scared of her? Do they not realize she's exactly one eighth their size?" she frowns, nodding to the sliding door where James is begging to go back inside.

"Not sure," he sighs, "I mean, I guess it's better than having them be rough with her, which might happen at some point. Maybe we should break out the treats."

At the word ' _treat_ ', both of the terriers snap to attention, quivering with anticipation.

" _Oh_ ," Liv breathes slowly, "Do you guys want a _treat_?"

The puppy clearly has no connection to this word, happily laying in the grass between Olivia's thighs, attempting to rip her toy into pieces. Dolly and James shift excitedly, still frozen in their respective spots, one eye each on the invader.

"See if you can get her to keep playing. They haven't even gotten close enough to give her a good sniff yet, she's been too hyper. Which, evidently, is terrifying. Dolly-girl, look."

He opens the bag of chewy treats he's brought outside, letting Dolly see that he's offering her one, and then handing it to Olivia.

"C'mere," Liv coos, holding her hand out, trying to coax the dog closer, "It's okay."

Dolly is definitely interested, slowly inching closer, nose extended.

"It's okay," Fitz murmurs, letting her stay close and walk across his lap, petting her soothingly, "She's not going to hurt you. We wouldn't bring in anyone dangerous."

Liv giggles, coaxing her further and further. "Good girl. That's a good girl, c'mon."

Eventually, Dolly's close enough that the puppy gets her attention again, and she recoils a little, cautiously sniffing her way closer and closer. The little ball of fur is finally tired enough that she decides to let herself be sniffed, rolling onto her back in submission.

"There we go," he says softly, still petting Dolly, "Good girl. What do you think? That's your new sister."

Out of nowhere, James comes trotting over with no hesitation, sticking his nose in for his own thorough sniff.

"You're whipped, man," Fitz laughs, looking up at Liv with wide eyes, "You just needed Dolls to show you it was okay, huh? Geez, guys. This is a lot of drama for a little puppy."

As soon as the puppy moves they both jump and back up, but the beginnings of acceptance are there and they both get rewarded for their bravery.

"Wait, so did you actually go to the grocery store? What are we having for dinner?" she asks him, suddenly, _still_ trying to wrap her mind around the change of events.

"I did, I put the food inside before I brought the scaredy-cats out here," he laughs, reaching over to scoop up the puppy, "She came into the store with me, didn't you? Didn't you?"

He falls onto his back and lets her attack him, tumbling in the grass with her.

"Were you like this when those guys were puppies?" she grins, watching her husband gently pin their puppy to the ground and then let her go, letting her defend herself.

"Yep," he answers, sitting up and grabbing a toy, making her run in circles around his body to chase it, "You have to tire them out, otherwise they destroy the whole house. Until James and Dolly decide they're going to play with her, we're going to have to do most of it. Here, see if she'll chase you."

She stands up and he tosses her the ball.

Instantly, the puppy follows the trail of the toy, running over to Liv and jumping playfully.

"Hi!" she laughs, running backwards, waving the toy around, "Get it. Get it! C'mon."

* * *

Fitz goes inside to give Dolly and James some attention, leaving her outside with the puppy, wanting the little one to bond with her as much as possible.

When he comes back out to light the grill, the puppy has curled into her lap and fallen asleep.

"She is _out_ ," Liv grins, petting the little ball of fur, "She kind of laid down and was looking sleepy, and then she just crawled into my lap."

"We'd better think of a name," he smiles, using a brush to scrub the grates, "Should we stick with the presidential theme we've got going on? We already have Dolly and James Madison."

"If we can think of something cute, why not?"

She's in the love with the little dog already, he can tell, and it makes him _beyond_ happy. While the grill warms up he comes over to say hello, leaning in to kiss her and then flopping down into the grass.

"What are we going to name you, little lady? Hmm?" she says absently, stroking the puppy's soft fur.

They're quiet for a moment.

Then, at the same time, they take a breath and look at each other.

"Ladybird Johnson," she smiles, watching him nod along, "Ladybird. Lady."

"I like that," he grins, "Do you like it?"

"Ladybird," she murmurs, affectionately looking down at the sleeping puppy in her lap, "She looks like a Lady. That's her name. That was easy. Hi, Lady. Welcome to the circus, little one."

* * *

"I need to ask you something."

That night as they sit in bed, she's doing what he lovingly calls her 'pre-sex brain dump'.

It's a self-reflection habit she's gotten into, where she forces herself to be honest about anything she's feeling, anything she wants to talk with him about, before they make love. She doesn't do it every time, but as soon as she puts her book down and sits up in bed he's listening, ready for her to start talking. More often than not, after she's emptied her brain she'll initiate sex, and he has no idea if she's doing it consciously or not but he finds it _adorable_.

"Okay," he says softly, closing his own book, turning on his side to look at her.

Her body language is more nervous than he's seen in a long time; she's looking down at her lap, picking at her cuticle with furrowed brows.

"Did you get me a puppy because you think it will make me want a baby?"

And _that's_ what two solid years of therapy has helped her accomplish.

She can ask him direct questions now, without easing into it, without asking three or four questions that dance around the issue first; she can identify what's bothering her and confront it head-on.

Fitz stares at her for a second, looking into her eyes. " _No_. Of course not. I wouldn't do that."

"Okay," she sighs, giving herself a little shake, "I know you wouldn't, I'm just—sometimes there's a part of my brain that still thinks—I'm sorry."

"No," he breathes, smiling gently, reaching out to rub her thigh, "I love that you asked me that. It occurred to you, and you were worried about it, but you didn't let it fester between us. You just asked me. That's all you have to do, Livvie, just ask me. I'll always tell you the truth."

Olivia takes a deep breath, letting go of the anxiety. "Catherine's always saying that therapy isn't a linear process. I forget sometimes, that it's okay to need reassurance."

He sits up and cradles her face, rubbing his thumb across her lip. "Look at me. I got Lady for you because I see how sweet you are with animals, and how much you love them. I knew she would make you happy. I don't need—I'm not searching for anything else, I'm _incredibly_ happy. _You_ are more than enough. _We_ are enough. I promise you, that's the truth. Okay?"

"Okay. I know that. I do," she murmurs, kissing him softly, "I'm happy too. _So_ happy. And I love my anniversary present."

"Well I think your anniversary present loves you back, so it works out," he smiles.

She kisses him again, a longer press this time, and then pulls back to listen. "I don't hear her anymore…she did so well, she only whined for a couple minutes."

Fitz isn't quite as concerned with their new addition at this moment, letting his hands wander underneath her pajamas. "I bet she fell asleep in the crate, they've had her sleeping in that bed for a few weeks now, she knows the smell. We'll take her out in a couple hours."

"Excuse you, mister," she teases, removing his hands and pushing him onto his back, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Umm, trying to take your clothes off? I would've thought that was obvious."

She laughs and straddles his hips, humming in contentment when his hands start to map her body, pressing with firm strokes. Leaning on her forearms, she kisses him slowly, trying to stay present for every second, for every sensation.

"Fitz," she murmurs, waiting for him to open his eyes.

"Hmm?"

Liv cradles his face, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb, eyes searching. "I just—we've been married for a year, officially."

"We have," he agrees softly, arms coming up to hold her, sensing that she wants to _tell_ him something.

"I want you to know—"

She breaks off and swallows, blinking away tears.

"I want you to know that figuring out how to be in a relationship has been hard. Learning how to talk to you has been the hardest thing I've ever done for myself. And I _did_ do it for myself, just as much as I did it for you, because I wanted this so badly—"

He nods along, soaking up every word.

"It's been hard," she whispers, nuzzling her nose against his, "But _that's_ been the hard part. Loving you is easy. It's _always_ easy."

"Easiest thing I've ever done," he breathes, returning her soft kisses, "Easier than breathing. Better than a glass of twenty-four year Glenlivet."

"Better than a nineteen-eighty-two Chateau Margaux," she sighs, smiling and gasping when he flips their position, lowering his mouth to her neck.

"Better than the most perfect powder day…"

"Better than a Sapphire Point sunrise… _baby…yes_ …"

 _~finis~_

* * *

 _ **A/N: Writing this story has been the most beautiful journey. Thank you for sharing it with me.**_


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